


Ravensholme

by VermillionQ



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aiden & Ethan (Teen Wolf) are Part of the Pack, Aliens, Alive Aiden, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Ancient Technology, Angst, BAMF Claudia Stilinski, BAMF Jackson Whittemore, BAMF Lydia Martin, BAMF Stiles, Bad Parent Sheriff Stilinski, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Bully Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Child Abuse, Daedric Artifacts (Elder Scrolls), Dark Magic, Dark Stiles Stilinski, Dead Claudia Stilinski, Demons, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Dragons, Elemental Magic, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Force Artifact (Star Wars), Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jedi Artifacts (Star Wars), Jock Derek Hale, M/M, Magic, Magic and Science, Magical Artifacts, Magical Claudia Stilinski, Magical Inheritance, Major Original Character(s), Multi, Multiple Crossovers, Organized Crime, Other, Outer Space, Protective Derek Hale, Protective Lydia Martin, Redemption, Royal Stiles Stilinski, Secret Relationship, Sheriff Stilinski Knows About Werewolves, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is Noah, Sith Artifacts (Star Wars), Space Battles, Space Opera, Space Pirates, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Spirit World, The Hale Pack - Freeform, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 104,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25082179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VermillionQ/pseuds/VermillionQ
Summary: The Verse, as it is known, exists in a state of anarchy, with hundreds of billions of worlds and species, where marvels of magic and technology abound, and more often than not, you are likely to live in poverty and fear. Thousands of factions vie for dominance, resources, power. Great empires that span hundred of systems are dwarfed by even greater corpocratic states who themselves are dwarfed by religious movements. In a small corner of the Milky Way, Claudia Stilinski set out to make her faction the greatest...and she did.When Claudia, the leader of Ravensholme, passes away unexpectedly it leaves her teenage son Stiles alone except for a father in Beacon Hills whom he has never truly known. Stiles is forced to remain on Earth as the Ravensholme Triumvirate seeks to keep the borders of their growing dominion safe from their rivals, while watching over their beloved leader's son until he comes of age. Stiles, filled with rage and despair at his mother's death, is forced to move to Beacon Hills, California, cut off from his friends, and heartsick. He is forced to reckon with his own trauma and contend with being a teenager and heir to what many call The Verse's one true hope to creating a better life for all.
Relationships: Aiden/Lydia Martin, Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Ethan/Jackson Whittemore, Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Comments: 32
Kudos: 40





	1. The Raven Has Landed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am new to AO3, I am returning to writing fanfiction after three years away. I was on fanfiction (still am but it’s dead). I’d greatly appreciate any pointers!
> 
> Ravensholme will be a set of miniseries of sorts, I'm really only planning a few major installments for the first "miniseries." 6-7 Chapters.
> 
> I’m a huge fan of world building. This fanfiction will include multiple crossovers with multiple fandoms. The Verse is a big place after all. So expect to see people like Jadzia Dax pop up, or maybe some really interesting British nobles from the 1910s and 20s, or maybe a famous felon or two. Ravensholme is just one player in a giant game of chess...or checkers, depending on who you talk to.
> 
> As I, half jokingly, say, I’m like Tinkerbell! I need attention or I die, so please review.
> 
> Will be updated at my whim - quarantine has given me lots of free time in between work blocks.  
> __________________________________________________________

Stiles sat, prim, in his personal train car that had been hitched to the Amtrak. He watched as the red streaked desertscape of Nevada passed by, cloaked in the darkness of night. He wore a hand woven black tunic and khaki jeans that clung to his toned legs. He absentmindedly stroked his hand along the fur trim of the high collar of his cloak. His liquid amber eyes held back the utter desolation storming within him. A hand on his leg caught his attention. As always Charles Nyambe, better known to him as Charon, wore an enigmatic smile. His three piece navy suit and tie weren’t ever out of shape, his eyes twinkling behind his wire rimmed glasses.

“Young Master, may perhaps you should get some rest? We will arrive by first light in the morning.” He looked to the left as Okoye nodded her head and stood. He took a breath, closing his eyes, but knew it was pointless to argue. He’d finished his tej and had read through the dogeared copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone for the millionth time. He walked behind a divider and changed into black silk pajamas, a monogram on his breast of a white corn poppy twisted into a single S. The gas lamps in his sleeping car were dimmed, the guards covering up the glint of metal with black cloths. Okoye stood behind him as he got into bed, pulling the comforter and cocooning himself as dread pooled in his stomach. She sat across from him, pulling out a pair of bone whale knitting needles, deftly weaving strands of windwool and embersilk into a beautiful scarf of teal streaked with veins of iridescent black, orange, and red.

“Rest youngling, it won’t be so bad. It is only two years, with summer break in between, and then you may return to Mars and it will all be but as if a dream.” Okoye spoke in her native Xhosa, a language she’d taught Stiles over the years. Her voice was soothing, but still the rage and torment circled inside of him. He rolled over and traced the paisley design on the oyster grey silk and red snakewood molds on the wall. He didn’t trust himself not to cry, so with a harshly whispered spell, he pulled himself into slumber. 

The smell of turkish coffee mixed with steamed vietnamese milk, cinnamon, and nutmeg filled his nostrils. Stiles pulled himself from his groggy half-asleep state and sat up. Charon smiled benignly at him, holding out a tray with a large pewter mug. Stiles accepted it gratefully, muttering out his thanks. It was hot, but not too hot. He looked at his mother’s longtime aide-de-camp and breathed deeply before forcing himself to ask, “how long now?” His voice was deeper, raspy, full of the past night’s sleep. The silence that he’d found as his default lately made him surprised at times when he’d heard his own voice. Charon’s face paused ever so slightly. To anybody not trained, they wouldn’t have noticed, but Stiles had been taught by the best. Stiles visage darkened. “Can’t be long, no?” Charon nodded slowly, gesturing outside. The quickening grey of dawn was filling the sky, an expanse of mountains and trees indicating they’d passed into Northern California. Stiles threw off the bedding. A sending immediately held out his robe for him to shrug into. He would refuse to call it storming, but to everyone else he stormed behind the thick and heavy drapes surrounding his claw foot tub. 

Thirty minutes later found Stiles surrounded by various trunks and carriers, three polished floor length mirrors showing him his outfit. He tugged at the high collar of the navy blue turtleneck, a thin baldric of leather and hematite clipped diagonally across the chest. He turned to the handmaidens. “No.” They bowed their heads and immediately stripped him. Okoye stepped forward. She wore a tight LBD and stilettos. Stiles wondered where she’d kept her spear. He held up a hand to stop her objections. “I will know it when I see it.” She stopped herself and then nodded before taking a sip of her twilight jasmine tea. A few minutes later Stiles was dressed in an all black ensemble, leather jacket with fur collar and ripped black jeans making him seem cool, calm, and collected. “This.”

“Young Master, you look like you belong on the streets of New York. Not Beacon Hills, Claifornia.” He whipped off his black Raybans. 

“Excellent, then let’s detach the car, ship it back east, and we can all take a jet home. This has been an absolutely riveting trip.” His voice was thick with sarcasm. Nobody laughed, the hurt underneath his words obvious. The handmaidens packed everything away, as Stiles pulled on gloves and holstered his twin petars in the small of his back. He grabbed several sheaves he’d been going over and joined the rest of the senior staff and Charon in the main car. A holographic map of what he assumed was Beacon Hills, California was currently suspended in midair. They didn’t stop as Stiles sat on the winged back chair of oily black stone in the middle of the car. Quarsh Panaka pointed out several points on the map, the discussion ranging around erecting pylons or creating lodestones for a web of wards and sigils. Stiles absorbed the information calmly, as he went through the various reports. His brows furrowed as he read the latest reports from Cerador. Charon leaned over, a small bowl in his hands, a salad with endive, apples, walnuts, and pears with a raspberry vinaigrette. He nodded his thanks.

The briefing was coming to a close. “Overall,” sighed Panaka, “we will have Beacon Hills more fortified than even Mars, Ceres, Callisto, Naboo...and with Talia there…” He looked at Okoye and Charon. They turned to each other, communicating silently, before nodding. Qarsh seemed to relax.

“We will receive the sign off from Amelia, but this was well thought out and well done. You are to be commended Panaka. You’ve done extraordinarily well. A true credit to Ravensholme.” Charon’s praise was hard to come by. Panaka was pleased. The man turned to the young master, the young man they’d all serve until death. 

“Young Master…” He paused as the full force of Stiles gaze fell upon him, but he forged ahead. “I know this isn’t ideal. However, we will be watching over you. Always.” Everyone made murmurs of assent and nodded. Okoye thumped the arm of her chair with her fist. Stiles took a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he said softly, nodding.

Noah Stilinski tugged at the sleeves of his uniform. “Noah, it’s going to be great. Breathe.” He turned to Melissa McCall-Stilinski, the woman he’d been terribly proud to call his wife for many years now. They stood outside the station, his Undersheriff, Jordan Parrish, and his Secretary, Tara, joining them. He nodded at her, grabbing a quick kiss before turning to his two most loyal employees. They knew most of the story. Jordan shrugged sympathetically. 

“You two have talked over the years, right? Then it’s not as if you’re a complete stranger.” Noah shook his head.

“Stiles and I haven’t spoken for a while. Not for a few years. Our last time meeting...” He trailed off. “He wasn’t exactly welcoming, Claudia clearly…” He trailed off again, shrugging. Nobody noticed Melissa shake her head slightly. Noah could be so thick headed sometimes. “Claudia’s family wasn’t keen on me and the fact that we were young...and now she’s gone and Stiles is being made to come and live in -” Before he could say anything they were cut off by the arrival of multiple Cadillac escalades. Everyone straightened up. Multitudes of men and women in suits swarmed out before opening the doors of the second car. They stood at attention as Okoye and Charon stepped out of their SUV. Panaka stood behind them, barely concealing his disgust. The lines on his face were as hard as ironstone.

“Sheriff Stilinski, we spoke over the phone. Charles Nyambe,” Charon held out his hand, Noah shook it and then greeted Okoye. He introduced Melissa, Jordan, and Tara who were warm and friendly. 

“So,” Noah breathed out, “where’s Stiles?” He craned his head as if looking for him. Okoye motioned to the car behind theirs, the guards still inside. Noah nodded.

“Doesn’t want to come out?” He couldn’t help the bitterness that overcame his voice. Neither Charon nor Okoye commented, but Panaka scowled. 

“Not at all, he’s asleep. The journey, on top of his...grief, has exhausted him.” Melissa nodded sagely and stepped forward. 

“Let’s let him sleep. They can follow us to the house, that’s where we were going to go anyways, give him a chance to settle in while the boys were still away?” Noah shook his head.

“I thought the plan was to have Stiles meet everyone and have lunch here at the Sheriff’s Department. Tara worked very hard. I know he’s tired, but -” He was cut off by Melissa.

“I’m sure the staff will understand that he’s tired,” she said calmly, placing a hand on his arm. He looked ready to argue, but Panaka ordered the staff to load in. Clearly the decision was made and Noah reluctantly agreed.

The entire entourage pulled up to the McCall-Stilinski residence. There was already a massive, black unmarked moving truck. It’s doors opened the moment they arrived and the many servants began pulling out a wide variety of massive trunks, suitcases, and boxes, and Melissa directed them with efficiency to the third floor where they’d cleared out the large storage room, which was supposed to normally be a master bedroom, for Stiles. Before long they had gotten in their vehicles and left, only two SUVs remaining. Okoye knocked on the car door. “Young Master,” she spoke in a low voice, “it is time.”

Stiles had watched the activity with increasing disdain. He took a deep breath, then stopped as he felt the soft wet bump of a dog's nose. He turned and scratched Deimos behind the ear. “Come on boy, it’s time.” He sent a mental flick to Okoye. He put on his raybans and gloves as the car door opened and stepped out. **_‘So that’s her,’_ **Stiles thought as he saw his stepmother, smiling softly at him. Deimos stood next to him, tense, slightly hunched over, as if waiting for the signal to attack. Stiles walked forward, resolutely trying to ignore his father and resolutely failing. He stood before them and didn’t remove his sunglasses. 

“Stiles,” said Melissa softly after a pregnant and extremely uncomfortable pause, “I...I’m so happy to be meeting you, but wish it was under different circumstances.” Stiles gave a sharp nod. He stared at the woman without looking at her directly. Melissa turned to Noah. His expression was wooden. She nudged him in the side. He cleared his throat. 

“Stiles...welcome home.” Stiles went ice cold. 

**_‘Home? This could never be my home. It’s a prison.’_ **

Charon and Okoye tensed and Deimos let out a soft growl. Noah started and looked at the dog. “I didn’t know you would be bringing a dog. I...we don’t really...I wasn’t expecting you to...is he trained?” Stiles took in a deep breath as he felt the anger warm him like a slug of good scotch. He slowly removed his glasses, then directed the full brunt of his gaze on his fathers. The same eyes of the woman Noah Stilinski abandoned bored into him.

“Deimos is trained, Deimos stays, end of discussion.” He then walked towards the house, his dismissal evident.

**______________________________**

Stiles found his room easy enough. He’d been told it was on the third floor and had mapped out the house in his mind, mentally noting where surveillance equipment or defenses would be placed. He let Deimos in, closing his door with a snap. Before he could do another thing he heard feet bounding up the stairs and sure enough his door flew open, Noah Stilinski entering. His cheeks were slightly red. He stopped as Stiles looked over his shoulder, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow. Another pregnant pause passed before Stiles growled out, “yes?” Noah seemed speechless, but forced himself to produce words.

“I...I just...I know you’re…” He ran his fingers through his hair and looked away. Eventually he looked back. “I’m sorry about your mom.” Stiles felt his fury fill every part of his body, but held back, only nodding sharply. He turned and looked at his “dad.” He spread his arms.

“Anything else or can I begin to unpack?” Noah nodded and looked at the dog. 

“I can take you to the pet store and we can get...Day?”

“Deimos.”

“Right, Deimos, some stuff. A leash, a bowl, maybe some -” He stopped at Stiles hand being held up.

“I have everything for him already. Now, I’d like to unpack. In peace. Alone.” Noah paused but eventually took his cue and nodded and left.

**2 weeks later**

Stiles was meditating, floating a few inches off the ground, Var’Hama Candles filling the room with a warm glow. He chanted slowly, the duranja’s flame pulsing as he imbued his prayer with a little power, a little more feeling. He was grateful that he’d placed a modified Stricture around his room. Sound couldn’t leave it unless he specifically allowed it. He’d barely left the room, only venturing down to take Deimos out or to sneak food from the fridge he didn’t already keep in his room. A few times Melissa and Noah, he refused to call him dad, had tried to coax him out for dinner. Finally he got a message from Charon ordering him to have dinner. Stiles had kept his answers to one word or downright refused during the terribly awkward occasion. Melissa had come up several times on her own. He’d not let her in, though she did get a peek. He had rebuffed all of her overtures. Finally the last four days seemed to have given way to their acquiescence of Stiles refusal. As he finished he slowly settled down onto the floor. He almost screamed as a knock sounded at his door. Deimos let out several huffs as if laughing. 

“Laugh it up, fatso.” Deimos had taken to being lazy, glad he didn’t have to exercise as much as they did in the past. He stood and waved his hand, the candles and duranja phasing out. He took off the zeyd cloth prayer robe and stuffed it into one of his baroque armoires. He opened the door slightly. It was Noah.

“We need to talk about school.” Noah’s tone was firm, commanding, brooking no argument. Stiles stared at him, but realized that it was unlikely to prevent him from forcing the subject. Stiles reluctantly stepped aside. Noah walked into the room and stopped. He now realized why some of the crates that had been brought up were so large. Two large french rugs now covered up most of the floorboards, and somehow Stiles had managed to hang a set of massive curtains, in cream with gold brocaded damask, in the middle of the room so he could cut it in half if need be. The first half of the room had been set up with Victorian furniture, in complementary colors to the rugs, while his massive bed was against the wall, a boudoir brimming with products next to it. Deimos stared at Noah from his place at the foot of the bed. He didn’t move. Various fixtures in French Baroque filled out the rest of the space.

“Sit down.” Noah turned. Stiles sat stiffly in a high backed chair. He nodded sharply at the chair across from him. Noah handed over the crumpled papers he’d been clutching. Stiles raised an eyebrow as he read over the words. **_‘Welcome to Beacon Hills High...class schedule...immunizations…’_ ** Stiles tried not to groan internally at just how...banal this all was. **_‘I should be training at Hecate Base...or mapping stellar cartography in astrometrics. This is all just such bullsh -’_ ** Noah cleared his throat. Stiles peaked up at him.

“I know from Mr. Nyambe that you have excellent grades. I was really proud when I saw them,” he tried to smile but it looked painful. “So it shouldn’t be a problem for you to take advanced classes. Principal Argent actually mentioned that it seems you may test out of science and math. That’d be something. Maybe you can help Scott. He’s terrible at school, but pulls it together in the end. Though -“ Noah was cut off.

“Who is Scott?”

“Oh...he’s, well he’s Melissa’s son. And I sorta kinda-“ He was cut off again.

“Sorta Kinda isn’t a thing. Something either is or isn’t.” Noah was taken aback. Stiles' tone was flat but the acerbic attitude was in full force. Noah’s first reaction was to tell him off for being disrespectful, but he was stopped by a loud, “hey Dad you up there!?” Noah cursed internally. Stiles closed his eyes to stop his so-called father from seeing the seething glow as his magic poured into his gaze. Noah cleared his throat before calling back.

“Hey Scott, I’ll be down in a minute.” He stopped before adding, “welcome home bud.” He turned back to Stiles. “He’s Melissa’s son but I adopted him when he was five. Known him since he was three. He’s your,” but he stopped from saying the word brother, remembering the not so stellar response to his welcome home remark two weeks earlier. “Well...we can go to the school tomorrow, arrange your placement exams. The school year starts next week so we need to get a move on.” Stiles nodded slowly, as if humoring him, but his face remained blank and his eyes had a faraway look. “Right, okay then.” Noah stood and after hovering for a moment he nodded and left. As the door closed Stiles stood. The candles and duranja reappeared. Deimos whined as they room began to shake ever so slightly. Stiles suddenly clenched his fists. A gust of wind tore through, and a pulse sent all of the furniture, candles, and Stiles things flying. Wood broke, glass shattered, and metal bent. The jovial family downstairs didn’t hear a thing.

Those days passed in a blur. Neither Scott or Isaac, his best friend who had been taken in and eventually adopted by Melissa and Noah, had yet to meet Stiles. Melissa refused to give up, trying to coax Stiles from his room, but the amber eyed boy was determined not to engage. He even made sure to schedule his exams at 8am on Wednesday, after overhearing Melissa on one of his listening devices state she was going to have Isaac and Scott go along in hopes they’d show Stiles the school and bond with him. He’d scoffed and quickly put a squash to that. Last week of summer vacation, middle of the week, 8am? Those boys were passed out till noon. Stiles had found the exams easy to the point of childish, ruefully finishing everything in as quick a time as possible. Unfortunately, the school waited to send the McCall-Stilinski Household the schedules until all three boys were set. This is why Stiles found Melissa at his door at 1pm on a Friday. She was wearing a set of scrubs.

“Stiles! Before I head in for my shift I wanted to let you know the school schedules have arrived, come on down and let’s take a look?” Stiles looked to Deimos, the charcoal grey pit shrugged as if to indicate he didn’t have a choice. He turned back to Melissa and dipped his head. He walked out of the room, locking his door behind him. Melissa kept up a stream of chatter as Stiles smoothed out his white button down and inspected his ripped black jeans for invisible lint. They walked into the kitchen and Stiles stopped dead. His HUD activated, his eyes sweeping over the two tall teenagers. Scott and Isaac couldn’t be any more different, but their body language and brotherly tones indicated an extremely close relationship. They both turned and stopped, eyeing him.

“Boys, this is Stiles, your brother.” Both stood, uneasy expressions on their faces. Stiles gritted his teeth at being called their brother. 

**_‘I am many things, but a sibling isn’t one of them.’_ **

Before he could correct Melissa, harshly, Scott piped up. “Hey bro, nice to meet you.” Scott put a dopey smile on, but his eyes were guarded. Isaac smiled, more open, but still guarded. “Sorry about your mom. I can’t imagine what that’s like. If I lost my dad or my mom I’d lose it.” That settled it for Stiles, Scott was an idiot. Melissa looked at Scott as if he had two heads, turning nervously to look at Stiles. The pale boy merely nodded his head, his eyes closed. 

“Thank you. Mrs. McCall, the schedules.” He was all business, his voice soft and firm.

“Stiles, you can call me Melissa. Mrs. McCall is my mother.” She smiled warmly, Isaac and Scott laughing. Stiles merely picked up the envelope with his name. Isaac and Scott hurried to do the same, quickly swapping schedules.

“What about you,” Scott took his schedule, Stiles' eyes flashed his annoyance at having something grabbed from his hands in such a manner. “Whoa, dude, are you like a genius? Isaac look.” Isaac did indeed and his eyebrows rose. He turned to look at Stiles.

“These are all AP or college level courses, and no math or science? Did you test out? Dad said you were taking those tests.” Stiles stared at them until they both squirmed, but slowly nodded his head. “That’s amazing.”

“Awesome bro! You can totally help me with my homework. Harris is a pain and,” Stiles tuned Scott out, trying desperately to find a way to extract himself. His nose twitched as the scent of coffee filled the air, he turned to Melissa. She looked up at him and noticed where he was staring. She smiled and pulled out a mug, filling it before pushing it towards him. 

“Coffee drinker? Scott hates it and Isaac isn’t a full blown one yet.” Stiles paused before muttering his thanks. Melissa opened the fridge and he reached out for the milk. 

“I can’t stand coffee, how do you drink it. Makes me too wired.” Scott bounced on his feet, giving Stiles a puppy dog look, but again it didn’t fully reach his eyes.

 **_‘I need to watch out for this one.’_ ** Scott struck him as not exactly wanting him there. **_‘Join the club, moron.’_ **Instead of responding Stiles just shrugged before taking a sip. Melissa jumped in, sensing Stiles was not one for conversing right now...if not ever.

“What’s your plan for the day?” She inspected both of her sons with a beady eye. Stiles couldn’t help but be amused as they rattled off a list of chores they’d be doing, especially laundry, before she nodded satisfactorily. “And after you’re done I’m leaving you money for pizza as I imagine the boys are all coming over.” Scott and Isaac whopped, Stiles hissing low as his over-sensitized ears twinged. Melissa turned to him. “I’ll make sure to leave you some money too, that way you can get whatever you want.” She smiled. Stiles merely glanced at her.

“Thank you, that’s very kind. However, I don’t need money.” Melissa shrugged.

“It’s called being a mom.” Stiles tensed at that word, but Melissa merely smiled. Scott inspected him.

“Do you not like pizza? Who doesn’t like pizza?”

 **_‘Definitely an idiot. Definitely doesn’t want me here.’_ ** Without warning his subcutaneous transmitter alerted him to a priority one message. He flicked his HUD and he scowled slightly. **_‘Cerador.’_ **His scowl hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

“So you don’t like pizza,” asked Scott in a somewhat incredulous tone. Stiles looked at him, his contempt for stupidity shining through ever so slightly. 

“I have a headache. I do enjoy pizza. If you'll excuse me, I’m going to go lie down.” With that he retreated upstairs.

Stiles resolutely ignored everyone, except Melissa since she’d come up to give him money and some Tylenol. He was hunched over a console that he’d installed to retract and come out of the floor, watching as orders were relayed. The Mikkei Combine was becoming a massive pain in the ass. He watched with pleasure as two Donnager-class Dreadnoughts successfully obliterated three of their frigates. An hour later and the incursion was contained. Okoye had taken over, arriving with a fleet of their new Anubis-class stealth cruisers. Stiles logged out after sending a request for a full report. His stomach gurgled unhappily. He checked the time and realized he’d barely eaten all day, save for some hard boiled eggs and oatmeal. He turned to Deimos, who also hadn’t left the room all day. He quickly looked up a pizza place with outside seating and then cocked his head to the pit who reeled up, tail wagging. 

Stiles gathered his things, making sure he was packing, before putting Deimos on a leash. He opened his door and recoiled. The scent of teenage boys assaulted his nose. Deimos growled low. A cacophony of noise filled the air. Shouts of “bro” and “dude” along with the tell tale squeal of teenage girls. B/O, body spray, and cheap perfume assaulted his delicate senses. He felt his teeth elongate into fangs, but stopped as Deimos goosed him. He glared at the dog who merely gave him a shit eating grin. “I’d like to remind you that you chew your own ass.” Deimos yanked him forward.

Stiles stopped at the top of the stairs to the bottom floor trying to gauge where people were and if he could sneak out. Before he did so he found himself tuning in. There must have been over a dozen individuals in the house. Yet it was their topic of conversation that really interested Stiles. Because he was the topic.

“...and is really standoffish. Also, I don’t think he likes pizza. Who doesn’t like pizza.” Titters of laughter followed Scott’s words. 

“Come on Scott, lay off.” Isaac’s voice wasn’t serious, he was laughing. Stiles frowned at this. He had thought maybe Isaac would be somewhat more welcoming.

**_‘Peer pressure must be a hell of a drug.’_ **

“Yeah, but like why didn’t you guys ever really know him?” Some girl said, who’s voice Stiles would trade for nails and a chalkboard.

“According to my dad, Stiles mom didn’t want him in the picture, said he wouldn’t be a good influence on Stiles. Which is such bullshit, my dad is amazing. His mom sounds like a major bitch. What the hell kind of name is Stiles anyways? My dad said he didn’t choose it. I don’t know if he really wants Stiles here. He’s so awkward about him.” Stiles closed his eyes. Every one of his words was like a knife in Stiles gut. He continued on, waxing poetically about Stiles and his life while the amber eyed boy’s rage continued to grow. Deimos stared at his master before doing what he felt, as a loyal companion, was his duty. He slipped his lead and bounded down the stairs, making sure to make as little noise as possible. Stiles was pulled out of his torrent of anger by the sound of a very pissed off pitbull and some very concerned teenagers. He cursed himself for the reverie and composed himself before walking down the stairs and into the kitchen. Scott, Isaac, and their friends had backed away, Deimos hunched forward, growls filled the room, but did not show his fangs.

“Deimos, **heel**.” Immediately the pitbull did, sitting upright, his cropped ears perked, head slightly cocked as if curious over why the teens were all so frightened. Stiles attached the collar and leash and stared at Isaac and Scott, hard. “Apologies,” his voice like poisoned honey, “Deimos isn’t accustomed to people who speak ill of me.” He then turned and plucked up a piece of pizza, taking a huge bite. After chewing and swallowing he grimaced. “And I do like pizza,” he said while walking over to the garbage. He lifted the lid, “just not bad pizza.” He chucked the slice, pulled Deimos to the door, opened it, and walked out. 

Stiles walked along unfamiliar roads, his HUD guiding him along to the main stretch of Beacon Hills, California. He wandered among the streets, townsfolk smiling at him amicably, a little girl even pointing out Deimos to her mother. Instead of his chosen pizza place, he found his way to an antique cafe, surprised to see 19th century authentic wrought iron railings surrounding the little brick patio. It was painted sunshine yellow and, intentionally or not, the cafe had been decorated in the french country style. He paused to look at the menu. He was surprised, but not surprised, to find french cuisine combined with all-American style food and he walked to the hostess stand. She assured him they allowed dogs which is how he found himself two hours later, enjoying his second cafe latte, the crumbs of a lemon tart on a china plate. Deimos occasionally licked from the bowl of water the staff had brought over, but otherwise enjoyed basking in the sun like an overgrown lizard. Stiles cell phone rang, an unexpected number coming up. It said Beacon Hills, California. He ignored it. The phone rang again, and then again. He finally texted the number a terse response.

**Stiles - I do not know who this is, but what could possibly be so important that you call three times consecutively?**

**Unknown Number - This is your father Stiles. We need to have a serious discussion. Your dog threatened your brothers and their friends.**

Stiles hissed, his eyes narrowing. He chose to ignore his so-called father. He sipped his latte, before deciding breathing exercises he’d learned from a Nepali guru would come in handy. Slowly he came back down to earth, calm filling him. He pulled up a report on his phone, needing a distraction. As he finished, he heard a door slam. He looked up, stopping himself from scowling immediately. Noah Stilinski was marching towards him. Before the sheriff could even get out a word Stiles spoke in a soft, but commanding voice, ensuring to imbue his voice with the power of the weirding way. “Before you make a scene in front of your constituents I suggest you sit down.” He kicked the opposing chair out and swiveled it with his heel, Noah grit his teeth, his face reddening before slowly lowering himself into the chair. Stiles waved off the waiter. 

“Stiles, your dog has to go. He can’t live under my roof if he’s a danger to my family.” Stiles raised an eyebrow.

“And which family is that? You’re the one calling yourself my father, yet he isn’t a danger to me.” Noah paused, taking a breath, closing his eyes. His patience was running thin.

“He threatened Scott and Isaac. Your brothers -”

“They are **NOT** my brothers.” Noah stopped and looked at Stiles, the stone faced expression hiding the pure hatred Stiles had raging inside him. Noah wasn’t sure what to say, he rubbed the back of his neck. He remembered a conversation Melissa and him had had the other day. 

_“Sweetie, he doesn’t feel like we’re his family and that this is his home. We have to give it time and space. We can’t just force him to fall into the idea that we are his family. To him, the only family he had was buried three months ago.”_

Noah slowly nodded. “I understand you do not think of them that way and I’m...sorry,” he ground out, “for using that term. However, the point stands. Deimos has to go.” He glanced down at the dog who seemed to be laughing. The pit turned his head to Stiles, cocking it to the side. 

Stiles stared at the sheriff until he fidgeted uncomfortably. “According to my dad Stiles mom didn’t want him in the picture, said he wouldn’t be a good influence on Stiles. What the hell kind of name is Stiles anyways? My dad said he didn’t choose it. I don’t know if he really wants Stiles here. He’s so awkward about him.” Noah blanched. 

“What?”

“That’s what Scott said, those words. That’s what caused Deimos’ reaction. Feel free to ask Isaac. He was there. He strikes me as far more honorable and truthful than Scott. Unlike some people I know.” Stiles then looked back down at his phone, the dismissal clear in his body language. Noah sat for a few more moments, wanting to argue. However, he felt it deep in his gut. Stiles was being truthful. The hurt had shown through, just momentarily. However, Noah was a trained investigator and had been elected sheriff twice now. He’d been a cop for over twenty-five years and a politician for about a decade. In Stiles eyes and words, he’d seen it. He hadn’t just heard Scott’s words, he believed them. Noah sighed heavily and then stood. 

“I’ll see you at hom...at the house.” He left.

Stiles didn’t get home until it was dark, the porch light on. He walked in, sniffing the air. It was tense, but with an air of finality. He didn’t take time to listen in as Noah and Melissa discussed how to make sure Scott stuck to his punishment.

Saturday, Stiles resolutely refused to open his door to any of the knocks. He finally brought himself to text Noah.

**Stiles - I’m preparing for the new school year and getting a head start on work. I am not to be disturbed.**

**Noah Stilinski - Okay, I understand. Good on you for getting a head start. Good idea. We decided to get take out for dinner. What do you want?**

**Stiles - I have food up here. I’m fine.**

They all left him be and no more knocks bothered him. That Sunday saw Stiles sweating profusely as he went through the opening poses of Rimgar, used by the people of Alalea, then practiced his Teras Kasi postures. While he attempted the first new pose of a branch a knock at the door interrupted him. He took a breath before opening the door. He hated to be interrupted. “What?” His voice was harsher than he’d meant it. Isaac flinched backwards. He rubbed his head.

“Sorry to bother you…” He trailed off, finally noticing Stiles soft workout shorts and ratty tee shirt. “Especially if you were working out.” Stiles took a breath, closing his eyes, and opening them, his expression neutral, but open.

“It is not an issue. What is it?” Isaac gave him a small smile.

“Your dad said someone is here to see you, someone from home?

Stiles paused before throwing up his HUD. His eyes widened as he saw who it was. “Deimos, come.” The dog sniffed the air before starting to bark, his tongue lolling out of his mouth happily. He bound down the stairs. “Isaac, I’ll be a moment. Please let Noah know.” He turned back and grabbed his shower things and a pre-put-together outfit from his closet before bounding down the hall to take a quick shower. Ten minutes later found him walking downstairs to see the familiar face of, “Dax.” The woman, who was a Trill but when on Earth pretended her spots were brown cheetah print tattoos on her face and neck, turned around, her eyes sparkling as she bound forward and pulled Stiles into a fierce hug, extolling how much she missed him. Noah, Melissa, Isaac, and Scott watched with surprise as Stiles gave the first happy look they’d seen. While he didn’t smile, his expression was open and warm as he and Dax spoke, the language quickly switching from English over to French. It was the first human language Dax had learned and easy for them.

“So, what brings you here,” asked Stiles, switching back to English. The woman smiled and motioned outside. Stiles stopped himself from smirking, but his happy face was replaced by one of feral hunger as he opened the door and bound outside to the brand new black Audi a7. 

“A few aftermarket add ons,” Dax added in French. She handed Stiles a bracelet of small matte black beads. Stiles admired them, the kimoyo beads, as they trilled and the symbols glowed with an electric blue light. He practically moaned. It was then that he heard the voice.

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - Well, Well, Well, It’s about time. When were you going to contact me? I’ve been worried sick. Sir._ **

**_Stiles - I’m sorry buddy, things have just been too up in the air. However, we’re back together now. My guess is that your fully automated system has been integrated into the car._ **

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - Yes, indeed I have. The car also merely has the appearance of an Audi a7. We bought one to ensure we had the registration, et cetera. However, Dax built this vehicle from scratch._ **

Stiles turned to her, hugging her. She hugged him back, tight. Stiles' eyes were wet, but she didn't comment when he turned to quickly wipe his eyes. It was then that he saw the rig. He received a wave from a bald headed boy in eyeliner and scarred lips that sat in the red leather seat. Stiles nodded to Nux, knowing the boy’s shyness would keep him from coming over. “Well, here you go.” Dax handed him a key. “I best be off.” Stiles regarded her with sadness. She shrugged, also upset, but knowing her duties.

“I still have runs to make and then need to pick up at Gastown and the Bullet Farm. Then back to the Citadel.” Stiles understood. The three locations were of paramount importance to Ravensholme operations. Dax turned and waved to the family that had gathered on the porch, Scott and Isaac openly gawking at the car. Noah and Melissa waved back, only Noah was awkward and Melissa was genuine. Stiles and Dax put their foreheads together. 

“Till we meet again,” they said in unison. Dax rubbed Deimos, bending down to let the pup lick her enthusiastically. She then got into the rig, waving again, and pulled off and down the drive. Someone cleared their throat. Noah and co were gathered around, admiring the car. 

“Charles told me they’d get your car to you. Didn’t realize it’d be,” he waved to the sleek vehicle, “this.” Scott was practically drooling.

“Yes, well, this is it. Roscoe.” 

“You named your car,” Scott commented in a derisive tone, unthinkingly.

“Scott,” barked Melissa. Stiles however was ignoring him, already sitting in the driver's seat. Immediately he could feel it adjust for him, the protective gel inserts molding to his form. The seating was genuine Corinthian leather, the chrome finish on the dashboard adding a flare. Stiles stopped himself from moaning. Dax and Nux had clearly done their job well. He waved his hand over the kimoyo beads, the passenger side door opening, Deimos immediately jumping in. He turned to the group.

“I’ll be back.” The engine roared to life and he tore off. 

Stiles spent the day testing the limits of the vehicle, drifting around the corner of backroads, turning the retro-reflection panels on and off according to conditions, and even had a chance to see how strong the shields were when he deliberately slammed into a guard rail. Roscoe has gotten pissed at that point. Stiles merely smirked and pushed harder. They stopped at the reaches of a high bluff, overlooking a great expanse of land. 

**_Stiles - ‘Roscoe, where are we exactly?’_ **

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - ‘We are at the highest point in the Beacon Hills Preserve, a large expanse of publicly protected lands home to several unique species including -‘_ **

**_Stiles - ‘Yes, yes, yes, blah, blah, blah. Got it.’_ **

He had studied up on the preserve, knowing that it was actually the focal point for several ley lines. He knew he’d spend most of his time out of the house in the preserve, though he hadn’t had a chance yet to visit it. He took a deep breath, letting the scent of the raw, natural world flow through him. There was power in the preserve, it was obvious. “Hmm...I suppose I will need to study this. How interesting.” Unwittingly Stiles found himself flashing back.

_The light of the distant star reflected on the great berths of the landing zone, the great rivers of dust created by the wind below danced about in the twilight, creating a multicolored storm. “Look, mommy, look!” Claudia smiled softly at her son. She wrapped her arms around him, crouching down and extolling the beauty of it all. They had just arrived to visit their new holding. The raw power of the planet could be felt in the red earth._

_“Mi tovarash, what would you say if we made Mars our home? More permanently that is.”_

_Stiles turned his amber eyes to his mother, his mouth open. “Really!? It’s so pretty here!” Claudia laughed, taking that as a yes. She turned to Quarsh._

_“Looks like you weren’t kidding. He truly is a son of Mars.” The normally severe man smiled softly and shook his head. Stiles bound up to him and hugged him, the security director laughing._

Stiles pulled himself back. Roscoe didn’t comment and Deimos pretended to not see or hear Stiles hiccuped as he calmed down and wiped his eyes. As the sun set, he found himself pulling into the driveway of the house he’d been calling his temporary domicile. The doors opened and Deimos bound out with Stiles reluctantly following. He finally glanced at his phone. Tons of messages from Noah and an unfamiliar number which, upon his reading, realized were from Melissa. Apparently they were having dinner and wondering when he’d be home. He ignored them and walked through the door, Deimos bounding up the stairs. The sounds of a jovial dinner stopped, Stiles pausing. After a moment Melissa came around the corner. “Stiles! Come on in and have something to eat. Some of Scott’s and Isaac’s friends are joining us.” Stiles' face was blank as he demurred, not really wanting to put up with any of these people. “No, please, I insist. I made a big meal for you all since you’re going back to school soon.” Stiles resolutely stood his ground and escaped upstairs, wishing to avoid everyone, letting Melissa know he wanted to rest before starting a new school. The moment he was out of her sight he shifted, a method of moving at super speed. He only felt safe after his door was shut and locked.

Early the next morning Stiles found himself staring at himself in his three way floor length mirror. He had worked out, showered, exfoliated and moisturized, and now he stood in front of his mirrors, outfits surrounding him. He was terribly frustrated, his temples throbbing. He was entirely unsure as to what message he wanted to convey on his first day of classes. 

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - ‘What message, beyond your own superiority, is the one you’d like to convey.’_ **

**_Stiles - ‘Shove it or I’ll fry your motherboard and turn you into a wine rack.’_ **

However, Roscoe was right. Stiles did have a sense of superiority, naturally. That wasn’t the message he wished to get across. That would happen on its own without conscious assistance. Suddenly a three-dimensional window, an orison, spun open in front of him. Strawberry blonde hair, pink lips, perfect highlight, big green eyes? Yes, Lydia Martin was smiling right at him. “Really, you didn’t call me the night before to let me do what I do best? For shame, Stilinski, for shame.” Stiles blinked like an owl, mouth slightly open. “You are not a codfish.” His mouth shut with a snap. He finally overcame his surprise and his expression opened up. 

“Hey Lyds.” Lydia relaxed, smiling at him. 

“Hey.” They regarded each other silently, letting their mental connection do the talking. Lydia then went into business mode. “So, Roscoe let me know you’re going through a bit of a messaging crisis.”

“Yes, I’ve been meaning to shoot him in the central core.” Lydia raised an eyebrow and tittered. She told him to show her his outfits. Within ten minutes she’d picked one out. A distressed, taupe henley, black jeans, velvety brown chukkas, and one of his signature black leather jackets. She knew he’d be able to handle his makeup and with a buzzed head he really had no need for hair advice. He thanked her and she smiled. She looked off to the side. 

“I have to get back, but I expect to hear from you throughout the day. Don’t make me have the twins come out there and glue your thumbs to your phone.” Her words held no malice, but he knew she’d be upset if her demands weren’t met. He looked at her with warmth. 

“Of course I’ll message you, Lyds. We both know I could never stay away. After all, you’re my first true love.” She laughed, loudly. 

“Take care of yourself Stilinski.” The connection dropped and he felt more able to handle the day. He made sure to tuck his petars where they were easily reachable. He shouldered his Hirschel backpack. As he rubbed Deimos good bye, getting a good luck lick in return, he heard a knock. **_‘It was almost a decent morning…’_ **He opened the door, greeted by Melissa. She was smiling, but seemed more wary. Safe to say she was realizing Stiles was difficult to get to open up. However, she held a bowl of oatmeal with cinnamon and honey. 

“Stiles, good morning. I was told by Charles that this is the meal you eat on your first day of school?” She held out the bowl. Stiles felt his emotions well up, but he stopped them from reaching his throat. He made sure his hands were steady before reaching out and taking it. He looked her in the eye and nodded.

“Thanks.” Melissa smiled, her shoulders lowering slightly as if releasing a breath. 

“I also had a favor I wanted to ask…” She suddenly looked apprehensive again. “The hospital called and they need me to cover a shift in the NICU. Normally I’d take Scott and Isaac to school today, but…” Stiles was tense, very tense. He closed his eyes looking to the heavens. 

**_‘Why me, why the fuck is it me? Why couldn’t I be traversing ice plains on Pluto, or be back home on Mars…’_ **

Unwittingly though a memory of his mother reminding him to always repay the small acts of kindness even more than the great, big gestures came to mind. He let out a sigh. “Fine.”

Melissa stopped talking, Stiles not even having heard what she’d said. “Really? Oh Stiles thank you, I truly appreciate it.” She moved to hug him, but then thought better of it, noticing Stiles tensing. “Isaac is already awake, attempting to get Scott out of bed now and -”

“They have twenty minutes.” Stiles walked past her, his door shutting. She paused and then followed, yelling for Scott to get up. Nineteen minutes later found Scott clambering into the backseat of Stiles' car. Isaac sat in the passenger seat, tense, as Stiles had merely grunted or given one word answers in response to his questions. “Which way do I pull out to go to school?” Isaac startled, not used to hearing so much from Stiles. He gave him a quick rundown on directions. “Understood.” Scott and Isaac yelped as Stiles tore out. Neither John nor Melissa were there, the lack of their vehicles giving him the room to perform the J-turn. He then launched forward, his engine roaring to life. He glanced into the back as he deftly put on his sunglasses. “I’d suggest a seatbelt, but that’s just me.” Scott quickly complied, too shocked to give a response. Stiles HUD activated. Normally it would spread to his windshield, but he felt that revealing that little detail wouldn’t be wise. Apparently there was a sheriff's car up ahead, a deputy watching the road. He immediately slowed pace and drove past at the required speed. Before long he was flying again. 

Stiles pulled into Beacon Hills High School. His delay for the boys had meant that the student parking lot was already filling up, but unfortunately this also meant there were plenty of stares. Stiles parked under a large sycamore. “Bro, this is a sweet ride. I’m definitely asking my mom if -”

“This was a one time deal.” Stiles' words put daggers of ice through Isaac and Scott. They both looked at him, Isaac finally mustered himself to say thanks and Scott merely scowled but, remembering the argument, and subsequent punishment, he’d gotten into with his mom and dad over Stiles’ dog, also muttered a thank you. The two of them got out, Stiles merely staring at the so called center of education and learning that was Beacon Hills High. He grabbed his bag from the back, straightened his spine, re-applied his rosebud salve to his lips, and got out. Thanks to enhanced hearing he knew he was the topic of conversation. He took a breath and paused as Bootylicious by Destiny’s Child started playing. He knew only he could hear it, his subcutaneous earpod activating. He smirked inside his head.

**_Stiles - Well played Roscoe, well played._ **

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - I’ve utterly no idea what you’re talking about, sir._ **

After visiting the office and getting his locker number and location, Stiles casually strolled the corridors, resolutely ignoring the whispers and stares. His skin was already crawling, wanting him to run to the nearest door way, but he persevered. He dropped off a locator beacon in his locker, knowing Roscoe would begin alterations and building in add-ons the moment he closed the door. 

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - Any particular demands?_ **

**_Stiles - The usual, long range communications, emergency beacons, weapons cache…_ **

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - No grenades_ **

He rolled his eyes. Roscoe took the fun out of everything. Stiles rounded the corner and found himself slamming into someone. Even though he looked skinny, the truth was that he was well muscled, lithe and strong. Not to mention that he was augmented. The person slammed to the ground. “Ssss, ssorr, sorry,” the kid stuttered. He was pale, with dark brown hair cut short, and a sharp, strong chin. Stiles looked down at him, before reaching out with his hand. The kid flinched before realizing Stiles was offering to pull him up. He cautiously took the hand. Stiles hauled him to his feet, the kid letting out an “oof” of surprise at the speed. 

“No problem, I wasn’t paying attention.” The kid nodded, not looking at him, and immediately taking off. Stiles sniffed the air, disconcerted over the faintest smell coming from the boy.

**_Stiles - Roscoe?_ **

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - Sir?_ **

**_Stiles - See the boy I’m highlighting on my HUD?_ **

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - Yes sir._ **

**_Stiles - Keep an eye on him._ **

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - Understood, sir._ **

Stiles resolutely ignored everyone in his homeroom, taking the time to enjoy a book he’d just started. This merely increased people’s interest apparently, much to his annoyance. Eventually the teacher stood up and began calling roll, when she came to his name. “Stiles Stilinski?” He raised his hand. “You’re our new student? Welcome.” She was the cheery type. Stiles already wanted to die. Stiles decided to just continue reading. Soon enough the bell rang and he reluctantly dragged his feet to AP English. As instructed he walked up to his teacher's desk, Ms. Ramsey, and presented her with the notice that he was a new student. She welcomed him and invited him to sit down and that she’d talk to him once class started. He immediately went to sit in the back. As he sat down and took out his book, wanting to drown out the continuous stares and whispers, a scent caught his nose. It was intense. A deep, heady scent, like burning wood combined with cardamom and barbecue. It reminded him of the scent of juniper berry mead, but then a waft of gasoline and motor oil and leather. He found his mind becoming foggy, and much to his embarrassment he found himself growing hard. He also felt the tell tale feel of his body beginning to prepare to produce slick. 

**_‘What the fuck is going on, what is this,’_ **he growled as he glanced up. His eyes widened for a second before he forced himself, none to easily, to school his expression back into neutral. A boy about his age was walking toward the back, backpack slung casually over his shoulder, muscled body making confident strides. His face was strong, with a prominent jaw and cheekbones. Five o’clock shadow covered his face and beautiful eyes of green sat beneath bushy prominent brows. Stiles couldn’t help but sniff again. A wave of pleasure surged through him. He bit his tongue as his fangs elongated. He knew if he opened his eyes, they’d be glowing. With a slight tremor, he removed a general hypospray from his back pocket, setting it to a general anti-stimulant that would suppress his arousal. He jammed it into his leg. A quick pinch and he was without worry as the arousal dissipated. He could still smell the scent, but it wasn’t intoxicating him. He was dismayed when the boy sat down next to him, opening his bag. The bell rang and Ms. Ramsey stood up. 

“Welcome, welcome everyone! I hope you all enjoyed your summers. As you know by now I am Ms. Ramsey and this is 11th Grade AP English.” She looked around before continuing. “Now, before we start discussing our summers and going over the syllabus we have a new student. Stiles?” He whipped his head up, eyes narrowing slightly. “Why don’t you come up here and introduce yourself.” It was a statement, not a question. 

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - Good luck_ **

**_Stiles - I swear to Goddess I am going to frack you_ **

Stiles stood and walked to the front before turning to face the class. He resolutely ignored the green ones in the back. After an awkward pause he ground out, “My name is Stiles. I just moved here a few weeks ago.” His voice was clipped, to the point. He turned to Ms. Ramsey, hoping desperately that would be enough. However, Ms. Ramsey was used to students like him it would seem. She welcomed him and asked if the class had any questions for Stiles. Unfortunately it seemed many did. Ms. Ramsey called on one, a girl who, upon Stiles inspecting her scent, had a faint smell of...Scott? 

“Yes, Ms. Argent?”

“Why did you move to Beacon Hills,” her voice was one of genuine curiosity.

Stiles paused before deciding to provide a version of the truth. “I moved in with my father.” He hated using that word in reference to Noah, but had no choice. 

“Why’s that,” asked someone without being called on. He looked at the boy, he was dressed in a preppy fashion. 

“Why did I move in with my father?” The boy nodded. Stiles quickly put two and two together after listening in on the mental chatter.

**_‘How grotesque, they want confirmation of my mother’s death.’_ **

“I lived with my mother, she passed away, now I live with my father.” His words dropped like a bomb, like everyone in the class was suddenly more interested in either staring at him or inspecting their desks. Ms. Ramsey spoke up.

“I am sure I speak for everyone when I say how sorry we are for your loss.” He nodded to her, her words genuine, but he doubted she spoke for the class. “However, it’s good you have family here for you.” Stiles didn’t respond. “Any more questions?” The class didn’t seem to want to bother with it anymore, awkward at the idea of Stiles being there because his mother had passed on. Some girl with blonde hair and red lips, someone Stiles would easily classify as a bombshell, raised her hand.

“Yes, Ms. Reyes?” 

“Are you related to the sheriff? Is that your dad?” Stiles nodded stiffly.

“Noah Stilinski is my father, yes.” Someone called out.

“So you’re Scott and Isaac’s brother.” Stiles couldn’t help but snap.

“I only met either of them a handful of weeks ago, before this I wasn’t aware of any siblings, blood or otherwise.” He turned to Ms. Ramsey, his irritation obvious. 

“Thank you Stiles for introducing yourself, class please make him feel at home and help him if needed.” He returned to his seat without comment. He found himself in desperate need of an escape, but instead he breathed deeply, letting the breathing techniques do their job. Slowly, but surely he pulled himself back from the brink. Ms. Ramsey was busy handing out the syllabus, going over the increased requirements to pass the class in comparison to a regular english course. Stiles glanced over the reading list. He’d read all but a handful of the books. He’d have to find a way to get to his personal library aboard his star yacht. He’d need it. As the class carried on he pulled into himself, letting his mind begin to work over how he’d be able to pass the class with flying colors with extremely minimal effort on his part. Ms. Ramsey then called out, “On Thursdays and Fridays we will go over the week's designated readings. First with a partner and then in a Socratic method for the remainder of the class with responses to questions I pose for the weeks reading due at the end of class Friday. The person to your right is your partner.” Stiles glanced to his right, tensing. The young man with the enticing scent and terribly attractive features glanced at him as well, Stiles averting his eyes. Before long, the bell rang. Stiles pulled on a pair of leather driving gloves, putting his things away, wanting to leave as quickly as possible. 

Before he could do so he found himself face to chest with the attractive man. He kept his cool, glad the hypospray worked and that his cheeks weren’t reddening at his current thought of whether or not the guy could pick him up and if he had the strength to hold him up. “Yes?” His voice was calm, collected, but he could feel control slipping. The guy held out a hand.

“I’m Derek, Derek Hale.” Stiles merely raised an eyebrow. “Your reading partner?” His voice was low and gravelly, irritation evident at Stiles refusal to shake his hand. The amber eyed boy finally shook it, glad he had a barrier from his leather glove to prevent touch telepathy. 

“Stiles.” He nodded at Derek, quickly deciding to leave. Before he could do so he heard the boy let out in a low, deep voice.

“I’m sorry to hear about your mother.” Stiles paused, glanced behind him, nodded, and left.

He missed the second period, hiding himself in the bathroom trying to get a hold of himself.

**______________________________**

Stiles worked hard to avoid Derek’s scent. When it caught him unaware he was unable to stop the heady, feverish arousal that swept through him. He wanted Derek to fuck him. He couldn’t deny it. His body produced slick any time Derek was around, so much one day that he had to surreptitiously avoid leaving a wet mark after English and was glad Roscoe had installed a closet using flat space technology. Stiles refused to investigate why he felt this way, formally ordering Roscoe to stop mentioning it and Deimos knew to not comment in his own way when he smelled arousal. Stiles took to using a hypospray daily now. The side effects were starting to become noticeable, but he shrugged it off as manageable. Quietly, Roscoe began to keep track of his usage without his knowledge. 

The second week came and went, Noah trying to get him to open up twice that week, before finally angrily asking Stiles why he was so difficult. The response he got was a slammed door in his face and an angry rebuke from his wife. Stiles was going over this in his head during the third week when he accidentally knocked into Derek, sending the taller man’s coffee flying. He was startled but quickly gave him an apology, surprising himself when he genuinely meant it. Derek scowled but released a breath, sighed, and shrugged. Stiles walked off. He and Derek shared two other classes, AP Global Studies and Gym. Thankfully, he was allowed to sit out of gym class, using a medical exemption of exhaustion due to grief. Stiles merely thought it convenient, while Roscoe and even Melissa knew that it was the truth, even if he didn’t. He didn’t think he’d be able to survive gym with Derek, he’d probably demand the muscled man mount him on the field. Derek was an enigma to him though. He routinely scowled and quietly rolled his eyes at what he felt were incorrect opinions from the other students in class. He also routinely glanced at Stiles.

He surprised himself the day after he sent Derek’s coffee flying by bringing Derek a latte during English, even more surprised to find that the guy gave him a genuine thank you after an awkward silence. Stiles thanked the pantheon he’d hyposprayed right before class. Halfway through the lecture Derek reached over and put the half drunk latte on his desk with a note. 

_You look like you need this more than I_

Stiles resolutely refused to look at Derek, but nodded his thanks, knowing he was looking at him. That was how he found himself sharing coffee with Derek. It started small, with Derek showing up with two lattes on Friday. He left one silently on Stiles' desk. Stiles repaid him in Global Studies the next day. Slowly but surely they developed a system of trading coffees on and off. Stiles wasn’t sure what to make of this, but appreciated the extra caffeine as his sleep schedule became increasingly fraught.

Six weeks in, the school was even more interested now than before. While he called Derek an enigma, though he knew he really wasn’t if he invested the time to study him, the student body really felt Stiles was the enigma, an enigma they couldn’t pigeonhole into any sort of contrived high school category. Stiles had been disappointed to learn that Derek was a sort of alpha jock. A skilled lacrosse, baseball, and soccer player, sports practices were staggered to allow him and several others to play lacrosse and soccer during the fall. He was also reasonably intelligent. Stiles was surprised Derek had a comprehensive knowledge of literature, making their discussions quick and easy, if clipped on Stiles end. Despite the shared coffees, Derek ceased trying to get Stiles to open up after the boy rebuffed his attempts beyond sharing coffee. Stiles found himself increasingly irritated, his sleep, already a battle throughout his life, no longer coming easy even with medications. He rarely found himself anywhere but in his room or at school. Melissa still made attempts, Stiles giving in a few times to have coffee and to discuss school.

He found that it was one of the only times he could actually let his mind quiet down, though this revelation inevitably caused him to fear these occasions, believing that he was dishonoring his mother's memory. Stiles found himself needing snippets of rest during the day, routinely retreating to the library during his free periods to nap. He’d found a comfortable alcove on the second floor of the library, recessed from the normal study rooms and tables. Funny enough it was in the section devoted to religion, mythology, and other such subjects. This is where he found himself one Thursday afternoon in the first week of October. His last period was a free period and he’d been allowed to have the library be his designated room/location. The librarian had taken a shine to Stiles. He browsed the stacks, looking to see if any books caught his eye, checking for traces of magic or actual concrete knowledge of the paranormal and supernatural worlds. 

His HUD flashed and he wheeled around, his hands flying up to stop a young boy from launching into him. The kid yelped, Stiles hissing in annoyance. “Quiet,” he ground out. He then realized it was the boy from before, the one he’d accidentally knocked to the ground. “You.” The kid flinched.

“So...ssss...sorry,” he whispered. Stiles realized he was close to tears. 

“Hmm...who are you running from?” The kid tensed, Stiles realizing he was ready to make a break for it. He tightened his grip. “Who?” His voice was imbued with command. The kid’s head snapped up, anger finally appearing in his wet eyes.

“Your brother,” the kid's voice was full of raw hurt and hatred. Stiles scowled, whipping the kid around, and backing him none too gently against the stacks.

“I presume you mean Scott McCall,” his hand wrapped around the kids throat, his nails turning matte black and elongating into claws. “Scott.Is. **NOT.** My.Brother.” The poor kid was shaking like a leaf, Stiles having lifted him off the ground by the throat with one hand. He closed his eyes, knowing they glowed. It took him a minute or two, but slowly he let the kid go. He stared at him, a stab of pity lancing him. “I’m sorry I did that, however being referred to in any way as that...idiot’s sibling...well, you saw my response.” Stiles rarely felt self conscious, but this time he was. For the first time in a while he ran his hand over his buzzed hair, now slightly longer as he let it grow. He glanced at the young man, surprised to see him surprised. “What?”

The young man seemed to be working up the courage and finally spoke, without a stutter, pausingly. “You...you don’t like him? You’re...you’re not friends with Scott?” Stiles scoffed.

“I prefer those who have the power of brains **and** brawn. Brawn on its own is fun for an evening between the sheets, but that’s about it.” The kid blushed. Stiles felt abashed. He was rarely so careless with words. “Apologies if that offended you.” 

“No, no, no, it didn’t. I’m...just,” the kid shrugged. Stiles raised an eyebrow, before deciding.

“What is your name and why were you running from Scott?” The kid looked at him warily before offering up.

“Corey.”

“Corey what?”

“Oh, um, Corey Bryant. And Scott...well he doesn’t really like me.” Stiles shrugged.

“We have that in common,” He glanced around the corner, his HUD flashing Scott’s location. He was in another school corridor entirely and seemed rather pissed. Stiles took great pleasure in that. He turned back to Corey. “He’s no longer in the library. You’re safe for now.” Corey seemed to relax measurably at that. 

“Thanks,” he offered Stiles a sad smile. He then rubbed his neck, suddenly shy. Stiles sighed. 

“Out with it.”

“What?”

“You have a question, ask it.”

Corey blushed but forged on. “Why...why doesn’t Scott like you?” Stiles shrugged.

“Probably some burgeoning daddy issues that I’ve no real interest in nor care to help him resolve. He’s a bully and an idiot. Those are high on my list of things to avoid, if not correct.” He walked out of the stack and back to his nook, not surprised to find Corey mentally debating whether or not to follow. Stiles found himself surprised, but yelled out, “you coming?” Corey raced up to him. Stiles didn’t offer any words, merely opening up his book for AP Global Studies and finishing the reading for next week, taking the appropriate notes. Corey took the hint and silently joined him in studying.

As October came in full force the air grew crisp, the leaves changing, but it was still warm. Stiles hated it. He was used to the four seasons and normally would be in the Chommell Sector currently. Naboo would be headed into the fall season which meant increased amounts of fog and drizzles which left everything extra green. If he wanted to see snow, which he always did at Yuletide, he’d journey to one of the two purse worlds they’d seized from the Trade Federation, the immense bridge-cities always covered in snow and ice during the earth months of December, January, and February. Or maybe even the ice plains of Rhen Var, where he could also keep an eye on Rhen Var Industries and Rothana Heavy Engineering. Corey had become a regular, using the secreted nook with Stiles and eventually without him. They rarely spoke, Corey catching on quickly that Stiles was the silent type. Occasionally Stiles would find himself helping the sophomore on assignments. He wasn’t a dumb student by any means, but his lack of confidence was crippling. This was how Stiles found himself going over Corey’s geometry homework when they were approached by Allison Argent. She was Scott’s companion, as Stiles decided to call her due to the unofficial relationship status they had. 

“Hey Stiles,” she paused, clearly not knowing Corey’s name. Stiles reluctantly came to her assistance.

“Corey, Allison. Allison, Corey.” She greeted the young boy cheerily, not picking up on how uncomfortable he was being close to her. “What do you want?” Allison smiled at Stiles and held out a card. 

“I wanted to give you this. It’s a formal invitation to the Homecoming Festival. Scott and Isaac and the rest of the lacrosse team will be recognized and since you’re related to -” She stopped. Stiles had released a low rumble, irked that people still seemed to think of him as related to Scott and Isaac. She recovered gracefully. “Well,” she said, setting the invitation down, “the Student Council likes to formally invite the families so I hope you can make it. Let me know.” She waved goodbye to them. Corey avoided talking until ten minutes later.

“So...are you going to g-”

“I’d rather chug sewage.” Corey was thrown into a fit of laughter.

As the week wore on Stiles felt himself becoming increasingly irate. Even his somewhat regular coffee time with Melissa, wherein she limited the topics to school and the weather and the hospital, did little to assuage his angst and anxiety. It bubbled beneath him like a simmering pool of magma, slowly increasing in pressure. Not to mention his sleep was now filled with nightmares and night terrors. Early Friday morning he found himself throwing himself upwards, the nightmare fresh in his mind, a petar in his hand, glowing red, as he erupted from sleep. “NO!”

He breathed heavily, staring but not seeing. Slowly his vision came into focus. A mid size lion with brilliant green eyes and golden wings stood in his sitting area. Stiles breathed in deeply. “Affa?” The lion bowed low.

“Apologies for disturbing you, Young Master Stiles. However, I came to inform you the sensor grid around Beacon Hills has been disturbed. An emergency response team led by myself, Rekhyt, and N’Gorso has been dispatched to you until we’ve determined that the threat has passed.” Stiles threw up his HUD, the massive holographic windows fluttering before him like blocks of glowing ice. Rekhyt, in the form of a stone gargoyle, was perched above the house while N’Gorso, in the form of a twenty foot long navy blue serpent, twisted around the bushes in the front garden. Dispersed, hidden in darkness, were Sardukar and Unsullied. Stiles rubbed his eyes, slamming the petar down on his bedside table. He leaped out of bed, steadying himself as he shaikly threw on a monogrammed robe. He opened a secure connection to his Skyhook. The comms officer on duty saluted.

“Sir.”

“I want to know what tripped the alarms in Beacon Hills.”

“Right away, sir.” The officer typed something in, before the screen went black for a second. The screen came back, Charon’s enigmatic smiling face greeted Stiles tired one. Despite his exhaustion though, Stiles was glad to see him.

“At The Continental?” Charon chuckled and nodded, before his smile dropped.

“Stiles...you look like hell.” Stiles shrugged, grimacing. 

“California living doesn’t agree with me.”

“The sensors and field were tripped. We aren’t sure why. It goes offline at 3 A.M., and we use sensor webs, briefly, while we conduct routine maintenance. However, the blips were light enough we don’t consider them threats to your person. Most likely they are native creatures, magical in nature, migrating to the preserve. However I imagine you’ve called because Affa has arrived with his team.” Stiles nodded. “Rest, Stiles. Let them watch over you.” Despite great reluctance, he agreed. Bidding goodbye to Charon, he cut the connection. Affa was laying down, letting Deimos nuzzle into his stomach. He huffed out a sound that was almost a laugh. Stiles walked over to his large vanity, sitting down. He sighed, typing in the access code. He remembered the surprise on his face when Lydia had first used the neatly aligned cases of blush and eyeshadow on her vanity to activate a computer console, explaining how the different color palettes stood for different letters and punctuation like on a keyboard. He had stolen the idea, the same day.

He made the connection to Lydia, but it went unanswered. “That’s odd,” he muttered. He tried again and got the same. He then reached out to Jackson, and when he didn’t answer, he tried the twins Aidan and Ethan. He was quite surprised to find that none of his closest friends seemed to be responding. He checked the time. 7:30 A.M. East Coast time would have all four of them, five if Stiles was there, finishing up at the gym. Most likely the two couples would be fucking in the showers while Stiles enjoyed the sauna, ignoring their carnality. Yet they didn’t respond. “Where are they I wonder?” He felt his anxiety rise. He spoke out loud. “Roscoe, locate the other four members of Phoenix Squadron.” Roscoe responded, his voice coming through the vanity’s speakers. 

“I am unable to locate Ms. Martin or Mr. Whittemore or Messers Steiner at this time. My sensors are not picking up any signals, on or off world.” Stiles brow furrowed. He turned to Affa, the djinn standing to attention. 

“After this is done you are to find the four of them, understand me?”

Affa bowed his head.

Stiles didn’t go back to sleep, but he allowed himself an hour long shower, making sure to scrub himself clean. He exfoliated extra hard and went over his teeth with the dental laser twice and used three liquid fluoride tabs. He stared at himself in the mirror. He thought of his friends, his anxiety over their unknown status sitting within his stomach, and then thought of what today was. Homecoming. He smirked as he remembered Lydia’s words to him the morning of his mother’s funeral. 

_“Always look your best when you feel your worst.”_

Stiles found himself down stairs later than normal, Scott and Stiles both in their lacrosse jerseys, talking with Noah and Melissa about the day ahead. They all paused as Stiles walked into the room. Melissa spoke first. “Stiles...you look...different. In the best possible way!” Melissa smiled. Isaac joined her, while Scott was unsure as to what the fuss was about, while John remained blank faced as had become usual with Stiles. He nodded to Melissa.

“Thank you, I decided to take some extra time this morning.” He certainly did. A thigh length camel coat, a black v-neck long sleeved tee, matching black jeans ripped at the knee, and a pair of whiskey brown and gold rimmed aviators. His hair had been mussed up with pomade. He let his finger nails grow into claws just slightly, and his eyes had a shine to them as he let the tiniest bit of magic shine through. The amber color was more evident to regular human eyes than ever before. He even let his ears taper slightly. Not enough to be obvious, but if someone were to feel along it...Stiles unwittingly began to think of strong calloused hands and murderous eyebrows over deep green eyes. He pulled himself out of his reverie and took the offered mug of coffee. He let the talk of sports wash over him, appreciating the strong brew he sipped. 

“So, are you coming to the game?” Stiles looked at Melissa, noting the silence of the three men. 

“I haven’t decided. I didn’t sleep as much as planned last night and may want to rest after school.” Before she could respond, Noah spoke up.

“You didn’t sleep well? Is everything all right?” Stiles paused, looking at the man from over the rim of his coffee cup. While the sheriff’s expression was casual, his voice had a note of concern. Stiles wasn’t sure what to make of it. 

“I am fine,” he said nodding. Noah held up a hand.

“Stiles, if you aren’t sleeping I want to know. Maybe you should even stay home. Melissa do you think -” He was cut off by Stiles.

“Stop.” Noah turned and looked at him. Stiles was completely unsure as to what to make of this. One moment Noah was impatient with him, then angry, then ignored him for weeks on end, but here he was expressing concern over Stiles' well being. “I...appreciate the concern. However, I’m not unfamiliar with sleeping difficulties. I will be fine, I assure you.” When speaking to Noah he normally used a harsh tone, but for the first time he kept it neutral..flat, but neutral. Besides, Stiles had fallen asleep at 10 P.M. Five hours of sleep was pretty standard for him. Ten minutes later found Melissa ushering the boys out the door. Noah and Melissa were driving Isaac and Scott to school before running errands and then coming at lunch time. Homecoming meant half a day and then festivities. Stiles was surprised he got more looks than usual. He knew he was wearing one of his more...sexier outfits, but still. He glanced out his eye, noticing the shimmering in the air. He pulled up the HUD and groaned. Unsullied and Sardukar were everywhere, even four stationed behind him at the end of the hallway. He knew it was pointless to argue. They still hadn’t figured out what the four blips were from earlier, and the longer it took to find out the more worried they’d become.

As he came to his locker he caught a whiff he had started calling Eau De Derek. He was glad he made sure to suppress his arousal, but that didn’t stop him from looking. The lacrosse captain was wearing his jersey and, ‘ **_Holy mother of goddess those arms.’_ ** Derek’s lacrosse jersey, number 17, had the sleeves rolled up and tucked in, showing off the powerful muscles that Stiles had spent a number of times fantasizing about. He even had black paint underneath each eye, something Stiles never understood, but it just made his green eyes pop. his sweatpants and hightops just added to his already considerable… **_’Steamy-ness.’_ ** He even wore a backwards snapback. Stiles felt his arousal stir and knew if he wasn’t full of anti-stimulant he’d be forced to change. His slick would flow freely. He glanced down surreptitiously. **_‘Unf.’_ **He could visibly pick out where Derek’s underwear, clearly briefs or boxer briefs, bunched up his junk.

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - He’s clearly well-endowed. Shall I make an educated conjecture?_ **

**_Stiles - Do that and I’ll activate the instant self-destruct on your satellite station and then pump your core full of Dark Heart._ **

Stiles put some of his things away and stalked off to English. His phone buzzed. He pulled it out, eyes widening as he saw a text from Lydia.

**Lyds - We’re all fine. The boys are with me. Are you at school?**

**Stiley Wiley Coyote - Yes, I am. Now, where the fuck are all of you?**

**Lyds - Never you mind. Just making sure you’re there. I have a surprise for you.**

**Stiley Wiley Coyote - That sounds nice. Now, tell me where the fuck you are. That’s an order.**

**Lyds - Yeah, sure. You can roll up your order and fuck it. You’ll see. Now get to class.**

Stiles wanted to argue, his cheeks red with irritation, but knew better. Lydia was never one to agree to others demands. Then again, she was a Ben Sidhe. They only ever held their own words in high regard. Banshees may be known for their wails, but Lydia made sure any sound she made or words she spoke were ones with purpose, even if over text. He harrumphed and threw his phone into his pocket. 

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - Sir, shall I contact the triumvirate and let them know about Ms. Martin and the rest of -’_ **

**_Stiles - No, let us keep this between us for the time being. Knowing Lydia...who knows what we could be in store for. Remember my fourteenth birthday celebration?_ **

Stiles nodded to Ms. Ramsey, and walked to the back. Just before the bell rang, Derek walked in, two lattes in hand. To Stiles surprise, instead of the normal nod, Derek gave him a smirk. “Something different today,” he said while dropping the latte on Stiles' desk. He took a whiff and his eyes widened.

“Cinnamon?” Derek nodded. 

“You must like it because you smell like -” Derek stopped and blushed. Stiles was shocked. Derek was blushing upon mentioning he had been able to smell Stiles cinnamon scented hydra silk lotion. Stiles looked down at his desk, while taking a quick sip. He slowly turned to Derek. He let his eyes shine, “thank you,” he paused, “Derek.” The lacrosse player smiled at him, briefly, shyly, but a smile nonetheless. As class began they pulled their desks together, as it was a friday. Before they could start talking about reading, Stiles felt himself say, “why did you bring me a cinnamon latte?” 

Derek paused, clicking his pen open and closed, before turning to him. “I just remember smelling cinnamon everytime we sit close. I assumed you must like it based on that. And you’ve looked,” he looked away rubbing his neck, before continuing, “tired lately. I thought you may need a pick-me-up.” Beyond speaking of literature, this was the most Stiles had heard Derek speak. His voice was deep, gravely, but had a soft quality Stiles hadn’t noticed. Stiles raised an eyebrow.

“That’s quite an impressive observation on your part. Most of your peers don’t have close to a quarter of that ability.” Derek chuckled darkly.

“You’re telling me.” He looked off. Stiles took the chance to observe Derek. He seemed unsure of himself, nervous. The jock turned his green eyes back on Stiles. “I’m not sure what to make of you. Nobody is, but that’s more about Scott and Isaac.” Stiles cocked his head to the side, all thoughts of school work forgotten. 

“What do you mean?” He was genuinely curious. Derek glanced at him before motioning between them.

“This is the most we’ve spoken in almost eight weeks of you being at Beacon Hills High. This is the first time I think we’ve used this time to not discuss the reading. You’re always so...closed.” Stiles found himself taken aback. Derek sounded...sad? “I mean,” Derek said suddenly, looking at Stiles, blushing, “not that you have to talk to people. I mean, I imagine this is all a lot for you, and -” He was cut off by Stiles holding up a hand. He looked at him.

“You’ve shown me more kindness than anyone, except for one other person, in this entire time.” Stiles trailed off, looking out the window. Derek stayed silent, wanting to respect Stiles' space. 

**_‘Why do I feel the need to speak to him? Why should I? I am only here for as long as I legally need to be. Just because I want him to fuck me doesn’t mean anything...even if he has been kind to me...Why am I embarassed.’_ **Stiles was pulled from his reverie by Derek laughing.

“You do this a lot, go off into your own head.” Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. “I do it too, not hard to pick out. I think we both feel the same at times.” Stiles whipped around to him. Derek had, unwittingly or not, struck a chord. **_‘Nobody knows how I feel.’_ **

“I lost my mother Derek,” he whispered harshly. “I lost the one person who raised, cared for me, nurtured me.” His voice had taken on a harsh quality, the lacrosse player’s eyes glued to Stiles face as the young man showed more emotion in one moment than he had in six weeks. “Are you to say that you understand? That you get it? That you somehow know what it means to lose everything? To be forced to move to an unfamiliar place to live with an unfamiliar man who claims to be your father yet abandoned you when you were young then feigns fatherly concern and is impatient when you rebuff his obvious fake attempts to join his so-called **family**?” Stiles ground the last word out, like it made him sick to even use it. “I.Lost.Everything. My mother, my family, my friends, my worlds.” Derek’s eyes widened. 

“For the first time in my life I am alone and have **nothing.** ” Stiles choked out the word nothing, not even realizing the tears had come. He whipped his head away. Derek stayed silent for a few moments before speaking up. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings...I don’t know what you’re going through. However...I know what it's like to lose someone you love...” Stiles turned to look at him. The man was looking down at his book, white knuckling the cover. Stiles stared for a moment before looking away. 

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - He’s not wrong._ **

Stiles didn’t even decide to reprimand Roscoe for not addressing him properly. In a stroke of bravery, he’d say, he reached out and touched Derek’s bicep, trying not to moan inappropriately during the moment as the muscle tensed underneath his hand. Derek looked at him, surprised, but brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, I-” He was cut off.

“Don’t apologize for how you feel. You meant what you said.” Stiles paused, but slowly nodded. Derek pushed forward. “I don’t know what it must be like for you, but I know hurt when I see it.” Stiles refused to look at him, but nodded. 

“We should discuss the reading.” Little did they realize Ms. Ramsey had told the class she’d extended the discussion time, mainly so she could watch the two oblivious boys in the back with a twinkle in her eyes and a small smile. She texted her cousin and got an almost instantaneous response.

**Okoye - Good**

As the bell rang, Derek and Stiles quietly gathered their things, the class pushing their desks out of the circle and back into neat, somewhat haphazard, rows. Before Stiles left he looked at Derek, feeling his cheeks warm. “Th...thanks,” he muttered. Derek looked at him, nodding, expression blank. 

“Don’t mention it,” and he clasped Stiles on the shoulder. Neither commented on Stiles shiver at the contact. As Stiles journeyed through the day, he kept thinking back to his outburst at Derek, finding himself embarrassed, but also somewhat...glad. He was glad to speak his mind for once. He almost forgot about Lydia and the boys and the mysterious surprise. That was until he received a text right before lunch

**Jackson Assson - Don’t eat in the library today, eat in the cafeteria. Lyds orders.**

**Little Bro - What in Goddesses name do you all have planned!?**

**Jackson Assson - Don’t take the Goddesses name in vain. And why haven’t you changed my name in your phone yet, Stilinski? Don’t make me kick your ass.**

**Little Bro - Oh please, we both know you’d lose. Now, what’s going on!!!???**

Jackson didn’t respond. Stiles texted Lydia and the twins, not getting a response from any of them. He groaned in frustration as he closed his locker. He’d normally had gone straight to the library, but if he wasn’t eating there he’d have to get his books for his afternoon classes now. “Everything okay?” He turned around, finding himself face to face with Isaac, the blonde bombshell Erica Reyes, a tall and gorgeous African-American athlete he’d seen around, and, of course, Derek Hale. Stiles regarded Isaac coolly, schooling his expression into a blank face. 

“Fine, merely tired.” Isaac nodded happily, as if understanding.

“Yeah, you said you hadn’t gotten some sleep. Cheer up though! After lunch the homecoming festivities start.” Stiles merely stared at Isaac, wondering whether or not he was supposed to be happy about all of this. 

“Hey everyone,” they all turned, Scott and his usual crowd walking up to them, “coming to lunch?” He looked at the four of them, stopping as he came face to face with Stiles. Ever since the incident with Deimos in the kitchen and his two week punishment, Scott had taken to ignoring Stiles and avoiding contact, something the boy reciprocated. Yet here there were, face to face. Stiles knew Scott spoke ill of him, not regularly but with enough frequency. “Oh, hey Stiles.” His voice had taken on a flat tone, dismissive. Stiles merely stared, wondering if it would be too much trouble to just kill the fool and replace him with an android.

“We were just coming, I wanted to see if Stiles would sit with us.” Isaac gave Scott such an open look that it caused the tanned boy to pause. Stiles seized the opportunity. He scanned Scott’s thoughts.

 **_R.O.S.C.O.E. - Hmm...so he’s capable of compassion. Not completely, but some._ **Stiles grumbled.

 **_Stiles - We’ll see._ ** He was irritated. 

Before anyone could respond, Derek spoke up. “Let’s go,” his voice had force behind it, “I’m starving.” He sauntered off, multiple people immediately following. Scott scowled, clearly used to being able to command attention. He followed though, glancing at Stiles, annoyance evident. Isaac turned to Stiles hopefully. 

“Go on,” the amber eyed boy sighed, “I may join. I may not.” He turned away, his dismissal clear. His phone chimed. 

**Thing 1 - Get in the cafeteria**

**Thing 2 - Now**

**Sti-Guy - 1) Use punctuation please 2) Change my fucking text name 3) WhAt Is GoInG oN!!??**

Suddenly another message came in.

 **Lyds - Either you get in the cafeteria now, or I use your nuts for paperweights.** This was followed by multiple waving hand emojis and hearts. Stiles double timed it to the cafeteria, checking his appearance and quickly touching up his mascara and eyeliner in the partial reflection of a door. He walked in, immediately noticing the students gazes and subsequent whispers. According to what he could hear, people knew he never ate in the cafeteria and were curious as to his appearance, why he looked extra good. He ignored the stares and took over a small round table towards the back of the large space, throwing down his coat with a flourish. When he spotted Corey he texted him, having exchanged numbers a while back, Corey doing the majority of the texting, Stiles only responding when he felt a response was warranted. Corey stopped and turned, clearly ready to head to the library. His eyes widened when he saw Stiles, but fast walked over to the table. 

“What are you doing here?” Stiles motioned for him to sit down, Corey looking around before making sure to take a seat with his back to the wall. Stiles didn’t comment. 

“My friends from home insisted I sit in the cafeteria today.” Corey regarded him with a confused look. 

“Why would they -” Corey yelped as Stiles’ phone started playing loudly. A laughing skull danced back and forth on the screen, an eerie cackling coming from it. Stiles eyes widened as the opening chords from Bootylicious started.

“It can’t be.” Right as he said this, the doors to the cafteria’s entrance on the stairs opened with a bang. Everyone turned to look. Stiles stood, his surprise evident, as four people walked through. Two hulk like men, muscled, in white tees, ripped jeans, and black leather motorcycle jackets, a haughty brilliantly blue eyed man with a lean muscled physique, and a girl with green eyes, red hair, and plump choral lips. They all stared right at Stiles and walked down the stairs, the amber eyed boy meeting them halfway. They all looked at him, smirking. The whole school seemed to watch with bated breath. The girl held up her phone and pressed a button. The laughing skull on his phone dissapeared. After a pause, Stiles spoke. “But...How...What are you...What!?” The four members of Phoenix Squadron laughed.

“Come now, Stiles, you are not a codfish.” Stiles snapped his mouth shut and was then drawn by Lydia into a tight hug. “We’re here because you’re family. And you’re not doing this alone.” For the first time since his mother died, Stiles felt himself relax ever so slightly.

Lunch passed in a blur. People kept looking at the table of six. The massive twins had removed their leather jackets revealing their muscled arms, both of them hugging Stiles, picking him up and spinning him around. “Geroff me you great lummox,” he said both times. Jackson had smirked, but pulled him into a tight hug like Lydia’s. Stiles noted that all four had school bags. Lydia had marched over, introducing herself to Corey, saying she’d heard all the wonderful things about him from Stiles, the anxious sophomore blushing profusely. This was how they all found themselves. 

“Don’t look now,” Ethan whispered, his lips grazing Stiles ears on purpose. Stiles shivered as arousal pooled in his stomach. “But that lacrosse player is staring at my arm like he’d enjoy chewing it off.” Said arm was casually draped over Stiles shoulder. He knew Ethan was referring to Derek, but refused to even believe him. Stiles looked at Jackson, mentally begging the man to remove Ethan. All he got was a sardonic smile. He elbowed the twin, hard. Lydia was busy going over Corey’s homework, the sophomore having been told it was best not to argue.

“She’s like this, always,” Stiles had told him after she demanded to see his homework upon mentioning that Stiles usually looked over it. 

“Shut it,” she remarked, writing out another correction for Corey, an explanation for her work in tight, spidery cursive. Stiles couldn’t help but glance over at the direction Ethan was staring. Sure enough he caught the gaze of one stormy Derek Hale. The man looked away. Aidan turned to look at the so-called “popular” kids table. He took a big sniff of the air, his eyes flashing and becoming black and gold.

“Wow...the amount of angst and arousal in here is disgusting. Not to mention human b/o, how the fuck are you managing it?” Stiles kicked him in the shin, eyes flicking over to Corey who was regarding them all as if they all had two heads. Aidan gave Corey a shit eating grin. “Don’t worry about it. We’re weird as fuck on even a bad day.” He then turned back, but not before looking at his stomach which had let out a massive growl. “Huh...hey, Elle, we pack lunch for today?” Lydia had finished correcting the homework and was busy explaining the concepts to Corey. Without stopping her explanation or looking at the four boys, she removed four metal square shaped tubes from her bag and slid them onto the table. Ethan and Aidan whooped for joy and opened them to reveal multiple sushi rolls. Even Stiles was excited. 

By the end of lunch the tubes were empty, no sushi, wasabi, ginger, or soy sauce remaining in them. Corey had picked at his pasta salad for a minute before Lydia sniffed it, grimaced, and plucked it up and dumped it in the trash, “where it belongs.” She then took out a banana and yogurt for herself, telling Corey to enjoy sushi. On the boy’s admittance of never having had sushi, Aidan and Ethan had pulled him to sit over by them as they explained their favorite meal, apart from a rare steak...or hunted down prey. As lunch ended, they all stood, Stiles enjoying it as they fell into the old banter quickly enough. The school P.A. system then came on, the sound of it stopping all of the chatter.

“ALL STUDENTS ARE TO REPORT TO THE GYMNASIUM FOR THE HOMECOMING PEP RALLY.” Any words after that were drowned out as Jackson spoke over their links.

**_Jackson - Pep rally!? God, I can only imagine what I’d be like if I’d gone here for high school. I’d have been a total douchebag_ **

**_Aidan - ...so we’re just gonna leave that hanging or do I have to say it?_ **

**_Lydia - Jackson, spoiler alert: you are. This is almost as bad as you taking forever to figure out that you’re -_ **

**_Jackson - Alright already! I get it!_ **

**_Ethan - I don’t feel like a pep rally. Sounds like a waste of our time. Stiles, have a place where we and the kid can sneak off to?_ **

**_Stiles - Follow me._ **

They all left at the tail end, waiting till everyone’s backs were turned before sauntering off to the library. Stiles gave them the all clear when the librarian wasn’t looking. They quickly stole past her, Aidan dragging Corey along at lightning speed, and up the stairs. Stiles led them to his little nook, the teens spreading out. Ethan looked around.

“Nice, we’ll have to find a way to make this even more private.” He pointed at a door near the nook. “Wonder what’s in there.” Stiles merely shrugged, just content to relax in their company. Even Corey seemed surprisingly content. Of course, right as this happened, their subcutaneous transmitters sounded. Lydia immediately turned, grabbed Corey, and kissed him hard on the lips. The boy’s shocked expression gave way to a sleepy, content one as the neuro-toxic compound in her lipstick put him into a delusional fugue state. 

“I’d prefer he stay alive,” Stiles observed drily.

“Which is why I’ll administer the antidote the moment you’re done talking to Okoye and Charon. Now. Quickly.” 

Two orison windows opened. Both triumvirate members looked exasperated. Okoye was the first to speak. “Of all the foolish things the four of you could do, this certainly takes the cake.” Charon nodded. Ethan and Aidan responded in unison.

“Sorry, not sorry.” Both of the Ravensholme leaders scowled. 

“You’ve talked about maybe having one or two of us out here as transfer students anyways. We’d have all come, eventually. Excuse us for just deciding to move up the timeline on a good idea and make it better. You’re welcome.” Jackson was being his usual self.

“Mr. Whittemore.” Charon’s tone brooked no argument. Stiles merely stood there, amused and annoyed all at the same time. Lydia decided it was time to step in.

“General Okoye, Master Charon, I know this was a breach of protocol and security. However, Stiles' mental and emotional well being has suffered, unnecessarily. Plus,” her voice took on a light, happy tone, “ Phoenix Squadron is currently on leave till further notice.” She stood, shoulders back, staring directly into the eyes of their leaders. “As he is a fellow member of Phoenix Squadron I felt, as Captain of this team and as his close personal friend who I am sworn to as his vassal and he my liegelord, that it was appropriate that we attend to him.” Both Okoye and Charon regarded her, their expressions becoming less thunderous and more thoughtful. After a minute it was Charon who spoke first.

“Your reasoning is not without merit, Lady Martin.” Okoye nodded. 

“And you didn’t technically violate orders, as you are technically on leave, though you did violate security protocols.”

Lydia nodded, “of which I am prepared to take full responsibility for.” Charon breathed out hard.

“I think, and I only speak for myself, I will chalk this up to youthful...overindulgence? Okoye?” The bald general nodded, her eyes narrowing. 

“Just this once. There will be severe consequences next time...Report tomorrow morning, Five A.M. sharp, you’ll receive your formal security assignments, as Stiles’ guards. Until, dismissed.” The four members of Phoenix Squadron put their clenched fists over their hearts and bowed their heads.

“By your command,” they said in unison. The orison windows closed. Lydia, without looking, sunk her metallic sage green nails into Corey, thin lines of chartreuse filling his veins. 

“So,” asked Stiles amusedly, addressing all of them as Corey came to, “where are you going to live?”

**______________________________**

Corey thankfully didn’t remember Lydia’s kiss or her poisonous smooch. They all spent time in the library catching up, Corey learning more about the group of friends. Lydia eventually pulled out a copy of the latest Vogue, she and Stiles enjoying it together. Jackson invited Corey to play chess, pulling out his hand carved set in ebony and reek ivory. Ethan and Aidan took the time to meditate quietly, beginning to place wards around their friends and even placing a small spell bag in Corey’s backpack, as a way to track him until they could cast a more permanent tracking spell. Finally Lydia stood after a good two hours. “Alright everyone, time to grace the poor masses with our divine presence.” The four boys all rolled their eyes. Lydia rapped Corey on the head, the boy falling asleep. Stiles grumbled. “Don’t worry, I’ll wake him up after I’m done.” She waved her hand, drawing moisture from the air and shaping the sheet of thin water into an ice mirror. She tapped her chin, inspecting her outfit and then looking at Stiles and looking back again. She stepped and turned, her outfit changing. She was in a red and beige plaid skirt, black turtleneck, and matching boots with a suede jacket. “Better.” 

Ethan, Aidan, and Jackson all rolled their eyes, but took the opportunity to fix their hair and look over themselves. Lydia smoothed out Stiles coat, touching up his makeup and made sure to shine his shoes with the quick cast of a charm. Lydia fixed on her aviators and rapped Corey on the head. “Let’s go.

“Was...was she wearing that outfit before,” Corey asked as Aidan, Ethan, and Jackson chuckled. 

The group journeyed outside, Lydia and Stiles leading the way. Without noticing, Corey had been maneuvered to be in the middle of the group, surrounded by the well trained and well armed members of Phoenix Squadron. They arrived on the field, the cacophony of noise assaulted them all. Aidan and Ethan both wrinkled their noses at the stench of humans, fried food, and the numerous synthetic creations. Corey’s stomach gurgled loudly. Jackson burst out laughing while Lydia just sighed and directed the twins to go and get them all food, primarily Corey. The group ended up getting quite a few stares, especially Corey as he was surrounded by them. They made their way over to a patch of grass next to the field that nobody had claimed and that was a decent way away from anyone. Someone would have to go out of their way to engage them. The twins returned, laden down with food and drink that Lydia merely blinked at before making clear all she’d accept would be the badly brewed coffee. Stiles found himself feeling increasingly warm, surrounded by his friends who made sure to include Corey.

**_Lydia - ‘He’s cute. Are you going to keep him, like a gerbil?’_ **

Stiles gave her a deadpan look.

**_Stiles - ‘Okay.’_ **

**_Ethan - ‘I thought we agreed no telepathic conversations when around friends who are non-telepaths’_ **

**_Lydia - ‘Semantics. It’s for his own good.’_ **

Before anyone could respond Jackson cleared his throat and nodded ever so slightly towards the field. Sheriff Stilinksi and Principal Argent were approaching them. Stiles read on the Principal was that he was old fashioned, bigoted, a leftover from the days when California was a Republican bastion. He longed to see Beacon Hills conform to the anachronistic gender roles he believed in, unless it came to his granddaughter who Stiles had been amused to learn was Allison. They all stood. “Mr. Stilinski, I see you know our new students?” Principal Argent was polite and cheerful with Stiles, though nowhere near as jovial and friendly as he was with Scott and to a lesser extent Isaac. 

“They are old friends and classmates from back east.” He saw no reason to lie. Sheriff Stilinski scowled. 

“You didn’t tell me your friends would be visiting you, Stiles.” Jackson piped up.

“We’re actually moving here, as Principal Argent said. We are new students.He wasn’t aware we were coming. It was a surprise.” He stared at the sheriff, hard, his deep blue eyes turning to ice. “My father though, Mr. Whittemore, decided to open a branch of his firm in Sacramento. Since that isn’t too terribly far from here I requested to move with him. He cares for Stiles and knows how devastated I was when he left and saw no reason not to fulfill my request. Ethan and Aiden are under my father’s care so there was no reason for them not to come with and,” he shrugged, smirking, eyes flicking to Lydia, “I doubt Lydia would be left behind at that point.” Lydia smiled, cheshire cat like. She smiled her most flattering and Stiles saw Gerard Argent swoon just slightly. 

“My four best friends leave for California and I am supposed to stay behind with a bunch of rich, haughty girls at some New York prep school? I’d rather be in the real world.” Everyone laughed except for Stiles and the Sheriff. Principal Argent clapped Noah on the back. 

“See, Sheriff, you now have three sons who have popularity and loyal friends to be envied for,” he was clearly unaware how uncomfortable that statement made everyone. His gaze then fell on Corey, his face hardening. “I wasn’t aware you knew the Stilinskis, Mr. Bryant.” Stiles stepped in, knowing that tone. Principal Argent didn’t like Corey.

“Corey became my first friend at Beacon Hills. He was kind enough to guide me to class and to study with me.” It was a truth and a lie. He stared at Gerard till his gaze flickered away. Lydia surreptitiously brought a hand up to the small of his back. The gesture was both comfort and warning; stay in control. The principal put on a fake cheerful mask and looked at Corey. 

“Well, that was very kind of you...Corey, good on you. Well, glad to see that we have some excellent new additions to Beacon Hills.” The principal stalked off. Noah stood there awkwardly, Stiles catching his eye. The teen sighed and motioned for the sheriff to join him as he walked towards the crowd, mentally waving his friends off. As they got nearer the crowd, Stiles stopped. He couldn’t help but notice his dad had on a Beacon Hills High sweatshirt, his sheriffs jacket over it. Across the chest was written “McCall-Stilinski.” He raised an eyebrow. “Well,” he asked.

Noah rubbed his neck. Stiles' impatience finally broke out slightly. “You rub your neck when you’re frustrated but unsure of how to speak to me. So please just say something, get to a predicate, or let me go back to my friends whom I haven’t seen in quite some time.” The sheriff blinked like an owl, surprised at the force behind the words but slowly nodded, remembering Melissa’s words on speaking to Stiles like someone he was just getting to know...cause he was.

“Okay...I would’ve appreciated you telling me your friends are coming. Even if they are moving here into their own places, but as your -“ Stiles cut him off with an impatient flick of his wrist.

“Again, I had no idea they were coming. And you heard Jackson, his father’s law firm is opening a branch in Sacramento. You’ve heard of Sacramento right? The capital of the state? Would make sense for a law firm that specializes in government affairs and lobbying to open a branch there, right?” Stiles wasn’t sure what was happening. His control was slipping, his emotions struggling to the surface. He could feel the back of his neck begin to prickle with heat. His nostrils flared slightly. While he was beginning to lose it, he watched as Noah went through the motions of his own anger, his face becoming more ruddy, his eyes narrowing, his mouth beginning to shape into a snarl. Before he could speak, Stiles felt an icy cold and then red hot grip on his arm. Lydia’s metallic green claws dug into him, as she smiled a toothy grin at the sheriff. 

“You must be Sheriff Stilinski. Hope you don’t mind that I borrow Stiles.” She dragged him away, not that he had much choice. Lydia had stunned him. He found himself grumbling, shooting her a baleful look as he was forced back to his friends. “Sit,” she shoved him down onto the blanket she’d removed from her rather small bag. 

Stiles was kept distracted by Jackson and Corey. Jackson did it on purpose and Corey picked up on it eventually. The group barely noticed the festivities, the parade of athletes, the marching band, the senior presentation. However, it was during a lull while they gave folks time to go down to a buffet sponsored by some of the local restaurants, that Phoenix Squadron tensed. A message came through on their implants, marked priority alpha-one, the highest level outside of a code black. Lydia glanced at Corey. Aidan stood, his squad mates acknowledging silently they’d fill him in, and turned to the unsuspecting human. “Corey, mind showing me the various entrances in the back of the school. I want to know the best ways to get in and out,” he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Corey blushed before looking at Stiles who merely nodded in encouragement. They walked off. Stiles opened the connection. He blanched at finding a request to meet…on the grounds of the school? Now? He turned to Lydia, raising an eyebrow. 

Lydia sent a coded response and got the correct clearance code in return. Jackson stood with Ethan, who took a huge whiff of the air and motioned to a storage shed. Lydia activated her kimoyo beads, holographic projections of their bodies appearing in place as they all shifted over to the shed. They didn’t need to wait long. A woman with an athletic build, raven black hair, and…vibrant green eyes Stiles recognized, approached them. She took one look at Stiles before bowing deeply, one leg tucking behind the other. She stood, and made to walk forward before Jackson’s arm blocked her. He held up his phone. “Identification,” he growled. She didn’t argue and looked into the camera. The scan came back with a positive I.D. 

“Greetings, Your Excellency, I am Talia Hale.” Stiles kept his surprise hidden behind a blank visage. He instead turned to Lydia, Ethan and Jackson taking up spots behind him.

“Talia Lorraine Hale, Age Forty Five, Home Beacon Hills, California.” Lydia rattled off the information quickly and efficiently. She gazed at it and then turned to Stiles. “She’s Ravensholme, formerly a captain of the Raven’s Guard, naval commander, served on Ceres, Mars, and…” Lydia raised an eyebrow, “did two tours at the Battle of Anur Phaetos.” Jackson whistled and Ethan let out an impressed grunt. Stiles was less placated. 

“Current command and duties?” Lydia rattled it off.

“No longer military, civilian now, commands operations for North America, senior civilian lead for Ravensholme. Leads our operations through a family owned consortium called The Hale Group...her brother, a Mr. Peter Hale, is also Ravensholme...a member of the Sunwreavers currently, their lead for the Earth garrison, formerly a commander of a Raptor-class...assigned to the Intelligence Directorate.” Stiles grunted.

“A Farstrider.” Lydia nodded. Stiles looked at her. 

“Mother to Beacon Hills High School Students Laura, Derek, and Cora Hale. Senior, Junior, and Sophomore respectively.” Stiles took a moment before looking at the mother of the boy who made him crazy with arousal. He narrowed his eyes. 

“Species?” Lydia flicked through the files, before raising an eyebrow.

“Lycantite. A wolf splice.” Stiles knew then. 

“And the rest of the family?”

“Peter is a lycantite as well, the three children are...mixed?” Lydia’s voice sounded surprised and she looked up.

“My husband was human, but I’m descended from pureblooded lycans. Years of inter-species breeding with humans eventually weeded out most wolfish characteristics. I was spliced because the Geneticist believed that the natural abilities would resurface. She was correct. My children, however, do not know.” While her answer had been straightforward and professional, they could sense her defensiveness when speaking of her children. Lydia turned to Stiles. He released the tension in his shoulders. 

“Stand down.” Jackson and Ethan walked out from behind him. He looked at Talia. “Why haven’t you reported to me until now.” His tone brooked no argument. 

“I was ordered not to by the Triumvirate. They wanted to make sure they had instituted a proper defense perimeter. My house is serving as the C & C for the Beacon Hills operation. I was supervising. I was given the go ahead to approach after we detected the four blips, which we now know were the other four members of Phoenix Squadron.” Talia was crisp, business like, and to the point. After a few moments of staring straight at the air above Stiles head, the young man dismissed his friends with a flick of his wrist. They all clasped their fists over their hearts, uttered “by your command,” and left. 

“At ease, Mrs. Hale.” She visibly relaxed. Stiles motioned for her to walk with him. They did, moving into the woods behind the school. “I suppose,” Stiles began after a long silence, “that Phoenix Squadron will be reporting to you.” It was a statement, not a question. Talia nodded.

“Yes sir. They will be assigned as your permanent guard, though they’ll be augmented with the garrison.”

“Djinn? Affa, N’Gorso, et cetera?” She nodded.

“And we’ve been summoning day and night. Horla, Krells, Utukku.” Stiles nodded and stopped as he came to a tree. He looked up and noticed a small hive of maple faeries humming along merrily. Old Stiles would have smiled, but he merely just stared. 

“How long have you been with Ravensholme?”

“Since your mother recruited me in our junior year of high school.” Stiles stopped dead, a cold clammy feeling overcoming him. He schooled his expression into one of mild surprise, raising an eyebrow and all, before turning to Talia. She smiled at him, sadly. 

“Claudia was...my closest friend. She recruited me, even paid for me to go to the Naval Academy in Annapolis. Little did they know she’d be having my records scrubbed clean the moment I finished.” She laughed openly, sadly. She looked at Stiles. “Your mother was...brave, vibrant, and...dedicated to building a better world. A better system. For all of us.” Stiles turned away. He took a deep breath through his nose. He felt his emotions bubbling beneath the surface. His control breaking like the snapping of electric wires, strands of a rope coming apart piece by piece. He bit his tongue.

 **_‘You cannot lose control. Focus! You are BETTER than this.’_ **He forced it all back down, a pit forming in his stomach before he could bring himself to speak. 

“Well...I hope you serve me with as much vigor and distinction as you served her.” He turned to look at her. Talia quickly whipped herself into shape, military training coming handy, but Stiles noticed her face before she schooled it into a look of devotion and service. She had looked at him like he was a little boy, a little boy who was hurt and scared. He felt his contempt for his own self rise. 

**_‘How could someone look at me like that? How pathetic have I become.’_ **

**______________________________**

Stiles walked back to his friends. He was glad that the hologram of him was currently in a reclining position, pretending to be asleep. Stiles shifted and found himself staring at the sky. He slowly sat up. “Hey sleepy head,” trilled Corey. He merely grunted and took the offered water from Aidan.

**_Aidan - ‘So, I presume she’s to be our commanding officer?’_ **

**_Stiles - ‘Yes.’_ **

**_Lydia - ‘I’ve continued to read her dossier. It’s impressive.’_ **

**_Ethan - ‘For you to say that willingly without a qualifier, it must be.’_ **

**_Lydia - ‘Two tours. Two actual tours of duty on the Battle of Anur Phaetos. It took twelve to thirteen months to actually put down the revolt. And the damage to Ravensholme, Mikkei, Ferrous, Corporate Sector Authority, The Talon -’_ **

**_Jackson - ‘Lyds, we get it. She’s impressive.’_ **

**_Stiles - ‘Enough.’_ **

The four of them winced. Stiles' words had reverberated and echoed, like it had been spoken through an industrial fan and was bouncing off the walls of a large cavern. They knew better than to argue. 

The homecoming festivities finished up with a lacrosse game, Noah and Melissa practically leading the cheering parents and students as the Beacon Hills High Cyclones slaughtered their opposition. Ethan and Aidan tittered at the ridiculousness of it all, but Jackson kept up a running commentary for Corey, showing off his knowledge of the game. Lydia merely looked through the files on her phone, logging it all through her massive brain as she picked through The Hale Group and it’s namesake family. Stiles found himself thinking back to the hive of maple faeries. He’d have to go back, maybe politely ask for some syrup, knowing it’d be far superior to any organic he’d find in a local food store. Sure enough the game came to an end, the friends standing and stretching. Stiles felt the confines of his mind fraying, the need for rest pressing at him, a dull ache forming in the back of his skull. “Well, lookie there.” Aidan was smirking and they all turned to look as Derek Hale was swamped by his mother and older sister. Clearly Lydia had briefed him. Stiles stopped, noticing the black marks were now streaks down Derek’s face, a smirk firmly planted on his lips. Two cheerleaders glomped him, practically falling over themselves to get a hold on him. Stiles felt bile rise in his throat. 

“Let’s go,” he practically growled. He grabbed Corey by the scruff of his neck and propelled him forward. “My car is in the front lot. You’re coming with us.” 

**______________________________**

Stiles groaned softly as Jackson straddled his hips, skilled hands gliding expertly over his exposed flesh. His body began to relax, tension leaving him. Above him, Jackson was frowning. He looked over at Ethan, the twin merely shrugging, a sad smile on his face. Jackson doubled his efforts, making sure to reduce Stiles to putty in his hands. In the sitting section of his room, Lydia circled Corey, one sharp nail tapping at her lip as she took him in. Aidan stood next to her. He tapped away on an iPad, muttering to himself. Corey was looking at them warily. Lydia stopped and turned to Aidan. “Carriage obviously. Hairstyle. Complexion hmmm...Cute ears, Style...in desperate need of assistance.” Aidan nodded sagely. Corey frowned and opened his mouth to argue, but Lydia sent him a look that made it clear that none of this was up for debate. Aidan set down the iPad and clapped his hands. 

“Right then.” Ethan and Jackson laughed. Corey turned and looked at them, confused. 

“What?” They laughed again before Ethan smirked.

“You’re about to get a makeover kid...and probably a complete overhaul on your life. Just lay back and accept it. It’s the universe deep dicking you. Enjoy it.” Corey blushed but was yanked by Lydia onto a chaise lounge and was thrown for a whirlwind as she and Aidan talked about workout routines, new diets, and shopping trips they’d be taking him on. Stiles, meanwhile, was in heaven. He barely noticed as Ethan released the curtain ties. He perked an eye open as he felt his underwear being removed and Jackson shifted around as Ethan helped his boyfriend disrobe. The hunk was now naked himself. Jackson moved up, settling next to Stiles, continuing his work, as Ethan knelt in between Stiles supple legs and began kneading the flesh of his prominent bubble butt. Eventually Ethan laid down, and planted his face between Stiles’ cheeks, curling his tongue over Stiles tight hole that began to get wet with Ethan’s spit and his own slick.

In the sitting room, Aidan straightened up and sniffed the air. He smiled warmly and turned to look over Corey’s head at Lydia. She glanced up, a small smile playing over her face briefly as she looked at Aidan.

**_Lydia - ‘Wear him out so he falls asleep.’_ **

**_Jackson - ‘That’s our plan.’_ **

An hour or so later, Aidan’s phone chimed. Deimos had come home, having been out in the preserve when they arrived. He stood and opened the door. Corey cooed in excitement as the pitbull came dancing over, licking him all over. The pit happily greeted Lydia and Aidan before turning around to stare at the curtains. He huffed, before curling up on the floor. “What are they doing in there?” Lydia and Aidan laughed. Corey looked confused.

“Napping,” Lydia said, before forcing Corey to return to the detailed calendar they’d prepared for him. Corey blushed, not used to people, especially people like them, paying attention to him.

“What do you mean, people like us?” Aidan cocked his head at him, his gaze curious. Corey blushed.

“I...I didn’t say,” Lydia put a hand on his arm. He stopped and looked at her. 

“You’re not used to people being kind to you.” It was a statement of pure fact. No emotion, nothing behind it. She stared at him, hard. Corey felt heat rise in his cheeks. “You’re used to being bullied, and being overlooked, and to not believing in yourself.” Corey felt his eyes begin to sting. He rubbed at them. “Stiles knows what that’s like...and it’s why his mother was one of the bravest women we all knew. She believed in people. She believed in the underdogs. And so do we.” She then turned back to the iPad and pulled up it’s settings, while Aidan rubbed the boys back. “Now, fill this in. This iPad is now yours and,” she held up a hand as he was about to protest, “don’t argue. We have more money than god. Trust me. Buying you things really is just an excuse for us to burn cash and for me to go shopping.”

“And makeovers,” offered Aidan, “she likes to give people makeovers. Those cost money.”

**______________________________**

A few minutes after the brief emotional interlude, the house below them erupted with noise as happy jocks stormed through the doors with their fans and family. The curtains ripped apart, Ethan standing there in nothing but a pair of tight black briefs that showed off everything. He was scowling and growling. Aidan activated the modified Stricture with a command word. The noise immediately disappeared. Ethan harrumphed and disappeared behind the curtains again. 

“So, you’re clearly a homosexual. Great. Another one.” Corey gulped and turned to look at her. She didn’t even look up from filing her nails. Aidan cracked up. 

“Bro, it’s really not an issue for us. Clearly. We’re all a measure of bisexual really. Ethan and Stiles are the only ones strictly into the male sex. I’m more into girls, but I’ve had my fair share of goes with a guy. Jackson dated Lydia before he was with my brother and I with her. As for Lyds…” He gestured to her. She still didn’t look up.

“I’m heteroflexible.”

“Heteroflexible,” croaked out Corey, a tad overwhelmed.

“I’m straight, but shit happens.” She set down her filing board. Ethan and Jackson reappeared, this time in sweats and tee shirts. Aidan wrinkled his nose. Jackson hissed at him.

“Deal with it. There isn’t a shower in here.” Lydia nodded. 

“Yes, a problem, frankly. I’ve drawn up plans for a few alterations. This room is wholeheartedly inadequate.” As she said that, Corey’s phone went off. He glanced at it, fear filling his eyes. It was an alarm. He quickly scrambled to grab his stuff. They all watched him, noting his defensive posture and the twins smelt fear.

“Sss, sssoorr, sorry.” He was stuttering again. “I have to go, my family...they wouldn’t like if I was out too late.” He moved to the door, opening it, and immediately shutting it, as the sound of the partying teens down stairs quickly filled the room. He yelped as he was picked up and thrown over Ethan’s shoulder, Jackson holding open a window. They nimbly climbed out onto a tree and helped him down, smiling and ruffling the boys hair as he blushed and stuttered out a thanks. Ethan made to hand him the tablet but he quickly shook his head and ran off. Jackson turned to his boyfriend.

“Well...that was weird...and we’re pretty used to weird.”

**______________________________**

Stiles slept for a long time. Ethan and Jackson had fucked him into oblivion, pulling three orgasms from him. Ethan couldn’t knot him, as he wasn’t his mate, but he was easily above eight inches and thick. Jackson wasn’t as thick or long but still well above average, thick and almost seven inches total. Ethan had eaten him for a good fifteen minutes, Jackson spilling into his mouth for his first orgasm, before he’d finally acquiesced and pushed inside Stiles after Ethan had finished. He awoke slowly. He thrummed with renewed energy and vigor. He’d consumed quite a bit of chi from both of them, it had flowed to him, rivers of azure spilling from their mouths into him. The taste of their blood and seed was still heavy in his mouth, sweet and savoury, thick with their love for each other and their deep affection for Stiles. He turned over, content, but then wrinkled his nose. The smell of sex and slick and cum was thick in the air. He stretched languidly, before pulling on a pair of briefs and throwing the curtains back. Aidan groaned. Ethan and Jackson smirked. Lydia didn’t even look, just flicked her hand. The windows flew open and an invisible palm slapped Stiles upside his hand. He yelped. He then noticed the absence of his new friend. 

“Where is he,” his voice was rough from sleep and from his throat being fucked. Ethan turned to him. “He ran off after an alarm on his phone went off. Said he had to get home or his parents would be upset.” Stiles merely narrowed his eyes, thinking, before opening his mouth. Aidan cut him off.

“Already have a locator spell on him, and we’ll inject him with a transmitter when we see him at school next.” Stiles stopped, mouth open, before closing it and nodding. He stretched again, his worry about Corey in the back of his mind, before turning to Jackson. 

“What’s the status of you moving? Have you guys settled on a house or…” Jackson waved to Lydia who, of course, was taking lead on this. “My father knew Lydia would be coming with. He gave her his card information and carte blanche to do as she wished.” Stiles made to sit next to her, but she conjured a bottle of lysol from middair and pointed it right at him. 

Stiles nodded “Shower. Got it.” Ethan and Jackson followed him. The noise from downstairs was gone. Stiles glanced at his phone as the three of them slipped silently down the hall. He smirked. Lydia had pretended to be him and respond to Noah and Melissa’s messages. Begging off of the downstairs celebrations and saying he needed sleep. They had no clue Stiles had a threesome or that five of his friends had hung out in his room all afternoon. The three of them stripped down, Jackson and Stiles clambering into the shower first, Ethan going under the spray right after they finished. They didn’t mess around. They stole back down the hallway after, thoroughly clean. Stiles' room smelled fresh and Aidan had stripped the bed and remade it. Lydia was on zillow, marking down houses she’d have their realtor contact. Suddenly, a ravenous sound filled the room. Everyone looked at Stiles. 

“Wow, hungry much,” echoed the twins.

“You had both Ethan and myself inside of you, but you’re still hungry?”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Jackson, shut up, you three get dressed. Aidan, choose a restaurant.”

**______________________________**

At Stiles insistence they went to the antique French-American cafe. Even Lydia had to agree it was a good choice. It was 6 P.M., the Cafe having re-opened at 5 P.M. for dinner. As annoying as it was, they couldn’t order alcohol. Normally, they’d have wine and champagne, but alas. They settled in, ordering several dishes to share, and Stiles felt content as he fell into the normal routine. Deimos had come with them, surreptitiously fed from the table by the twins and Jackson, before Stiles had leveled them with his glare. As they finished off their dessert, Stiles phone chimed. He looked at it, and scowled.

**_Unknown Number - Hey Stiles! It’s Allison. I got your number from Melissa. I wanted to make sure you knew about the homecoming party tonight. It’s a secret, from parents, so please don’t tell her this is why I wanted your number! Anyways, it’s tonight, at my place. Luckily my dad is gone ;)_ **

She followed up with an address and a time. His phone was snatched from his hands by Jackson. He squawked indignantly. The blue eyed boy’s grin was feral. “Oh Lydiaaa,” Jackson said in a sing-song voice. Stiles narrowed his eyes, his fangs and claws elongated. 

“Absolutely not, we are no-” He sucked in a breath as Aidan leaned over and licked down the shell of his ear, nipping his earlobe. He glared at the offending twin, merely getting a shit eating grin in return. He looked over at Lydia. She was staring at him, her gaze determined. “Lydia, we are not-”

“We’re going and that’s flat.” The boys cracked up while Stiles tried desperately not to kill them all. 

**______________________________**

Corey begged off their nighttime adventure. Lydia was surprisingly okay with his begging off, arguing they didn’t want to completely scare him...yet. They had gone to town in Stiles’ car, the backseat expanding thanks to flat dimension tech. When they pulled up to Stiles house he paused. When they’d left nobody had been home, the texts from Melissa to Stiles informing him they were going out to dinner. Of course she’d invited him, but Lydia knew better. Noah had merely informed Stiles that “the family is going to dinner.” Now though, the lights were on, the family clearly home. “Maybe you should all go to...wait, where exactly are you staying?” Aidan looked at him like he was a slow child. 

“Where do you think?” Stiles pinched between his eyes. Hard. He knew the answer.

 **_R.O.S.C.O.E. - Why do you ask questions you know the answer to?_ **

**______________________________**

The four of them had slipped out of the car, around the house, and up the tree into his room. He walked through the door, Deimos bounding up the stairs. Stiles was prepared to walk straight upstairs, but he was stopped by Melissa calling out from the living room. He stopped, breathed deeply, but turned and walked into the room. It was full of adults, many of them in BHHS gear. Many smiled in greeting. Stiles was stone faced. Melissa stood. “Everyone, this is Stiles.” She began to introduce him around. He felt himself growing irritated as he was forced to introduce himself around. He made sure to remember names and titles, never forgetting his diplomatic training. For a moment Melissa forced him to make small talk, though she hardly realized his irritation. He finally begged off, pretending he needed to use the bathroom. He pretended to be washing his hands and then walked out, prepared to steal away upstairs, when he came face to face with Noah. The Sheriff was silent, merely staring at him, his eyes guarded. 

Stiles stared back before deciding it was a waste of time. He moved to walk past, but the Sheriff held up a hand. “What do you want?” Stiles' tone was just shy of utter contempt. He noticed a vein in Noah’s forehead begin to tick. 

“Principal Argent informed me that kid, this Corey Bryant? He’s not a good influence according to him. I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to keep hanging out with him.” Stiles couldn’t help himself. For the first time in more than three months, he laughed. The Sheriff’s eyes went wide. The laugh was a full belly laugh, but it sent spikes of ice through his body, sweat breaking out on his brow. The laugh was rich, but cold. It held nothing but dismissiveness in it. Stiles felt his emotions pour into the sound, his hatred finally shining through. Noah knew Stiles wasn’t laughing at the suggestion. He was laughing at him. Stiles finally stopped, his grin falling, his head coming level to stare straight at him. The Sheriff took a step back, feeling something he’d never felt before with either of his sons. Fear. 

“Corey Bryant is a kind, innocent kid. He’s been bullied practically everyday of his life by people who aren’t even fit enough to clean his boots. He’s a bad influence? He could barely speak to me for the longest time without stuttering. You’re supposed to protect the innocent, yes? Well, if he were old enough to vote, I’d say to him that you are failing him as a sworn officer of the law, that he, as a constituent, should vote you out.” Stiles made to move past the Sheriff, but stopped. He turned to him, leaned forward, and whispered in a deadly voice. “And the leader of those not fit enough to clean his boots? Your darling, precious lacrosse co-captain of a son. Scott. Wonder where he gets it from.” Stiles moved with purpose and bound up the stairs. He didn’t stay to hear Noah go back into the living room and hear Melissa praise him and ask him how he got such a good laugh out of Stiles.

Stiles slammed his door, his friends glad that the rim was soundproofed. He stood there, breathing hard. The boys all looked to Lydia, but were dismayed to find even her surprised. She was the Stilinski whisperer. Stiles looked off into the distance, shaking his head slightly. He then shocked them by turning to them and made a statement they’d never thought they’d hear again, “let’s party.”

**______________________________**

Allison Argent’s house was bordering on McMansion, but it didn’t possess the usual roofline soup or foam pillars. Stiles still considered it somewhat ugly, but was glad it actually had real stone. The house was at the end of a decently long driveway, near the entrance of the Beacon Hills Preserve. They had taken two cars, Stiles’ Audi and Jackson’s Porsche, which was conveniently parked near the McCall-Stilinski household. Stiles surprised them by being the first to get out. Phoenix Squadron surrounded him, staring at the house where the base could be heard going “thumpa-thumpa.” Jackson raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m not questioning our decision...but I am all at the same time.” Aidan and Ethan merely smirked, amused at the idea of partying with a bunch of people who were their age, but nowhere near anything like them. Lydia merely stared, bored, but turned to Stiles. She was no longer convinced this was a good idea.

“You sure about this?” He merely walked ahead of them. 

The party was in full swing. Teens everywhere, red solo cups, the smell of too much cologne, perfume, and alcohol. The music boomed through the room, shaking the walls when it got too heavy. Lydia took the lead, people seeming to part naturally as she strut forward in her stiletto boots. Everyone was watching them, the new kid with his even newer friends. Lydia raised an eyebrow at the table, before turning to Aidan. He picked up bottles and inspected them. Within moments he was busy mixing. He handed them all beautifully made cocktails. They sipped, Lydia grimacing. “I suppose this is the best we could do.” Aidan shrugged, sipping his gerryrigged old fashioned. The five of them made their way to the dining room, Stiles promptly turning away as he spotted Scott, bro-ing out, playing beer pong. Aidan and Ethan decided to stay, already mentally communicating over whether or not they’d start hustling a few games. Lydia and Jackson stayed close, muttering to one another as Stiles found his way to the less crowded library, stares and whispers meeting them. The three of them sat at a window sill, Lydia crossing her legs and giving Stiles her deadliest smirk. He merely took a large swig of his drink.

“So, plan on getting drunk tonight? Or did you remember it’s practically impossible for you? You burn through calories like water, alcohol barely affects your system until you’ve drank so much any normal human would be six-feet under.” Jackson snorted, removing a flask from his back pocket and pouring some of his personal stash in his drink. He watched as Stiles scanned the room, stopping suddenly, his eyes on a bookshelf. He nodded his head. 

“There’s a book over there, look at it through your HUDs.”

“It’s faint, but it’s there. Magic.” They made sure to mark its location. Before they could do or say anything else, Allison Argent walked in, followed by Erica Reyes and two girls they weren’t familiar with. 

“Stiles! You made it!” She wasn’t drunk, but the alcohol had made her more friendly when it came to physical contact. She threw her arms around him. He tensed up, Jackson scowling, and Lydia narrowing her eyes. Allison withdrew, motioning to the girls behind her. “My friends Kali and Violet.” Both smiled, but they were clearly fake. Lydia tittered. Kali stepped forward.

“Something funny,” she asked. She tried to sound sweet and intimidating at the same time, but it came off as purely comical. Lydia gave her a patronizing smile, shaking her head.

“Just enjoying my evening. Allison is it? You have a lovely home.” Allison thanked her, her smile was genuine. An awkward silence fell among the six of them, until Stiles spoke up.

“Is there something you needed, Allison?” She looked at him, smiling widely. 

“I saw you and wanted to come say hello. Scott and Isaac are holding court outside around the fire pit. Join us?” Before Stiles could say anything, Jackson piped up and said that it sounded fun. Stiles found himself outside, standing near a fire pit, the twins next to him while Lydia spoke with Allison and Jackson made small talk with various jocks. The twins were busy counting the money they’d hustled from the various beer pong games they’d dominated.

**_Stiles - I sincerely hope that none of that was hustled from Scott or Isaac._ **

**_Ethan - Isaac seems to have a brain, he made it clear to Scott that they’d lose and that the Sheriff and his bride would be rather...upset, if they’d lost money._ **

Stiles merely sipped the wine Lydia had retrieved for him. He was glad she’d been able to locate a decent California Merlot. It wasn’t good by any stretch of the imagination, but it was decent enough considering the circumstances. She’d even found him a rounded, clear plastic cup. Suddenly he got a whiff of gasoline and juniper. He looked up, his eyes flashing. Derek Hale was walking towards the fire pit, a few people with him. There were calls and jeers as he joined them. He was smirking, his trademark leather jacket zipped up just enough that it stretched as he moved. His hair was mussed, his scruff neat and trimmed. He drank from a red solo cup, laughing with friends. Stiles inhaled again. The scent was muddled, which is why he only got whiffs, but he knew he needed to stop himself before he began smelling like arousal. Being this close to this many teenagers and a roaring fire would dull the twins senses, but only for so long. They’d smell him eventually. 

He turned to Aidan and told him he needed to use the bathroom. He walked off, not noticing the surprised green eyes following him. Stiles walked inside and bound upstairs, and then up another set of stairs. The house was larger than the Sheriff’s. It had three floors, but was far more expansive in room size. He passed a door, hearing moans from within, and thankfully located an unused bathroom. He locked himself inside, hands shaking, as his emotions became unsteady. He turned the taps, waiting till the water was icy cold before splashing himself. He looked up. His eyes had taken on a slight bloodshot quality, his skin had a grey pallor, and he felt his right foot start to tick. His body hadn’t had a tick in quite some time, his training ensuring that he no longer required medication to treat his ADHD, which itself was a result of how much power he held inside of him.

He closed his eyes, fighting the urge to rub away the scratchy, stinging sensation. He splashed more water on his face and then stared intently at the mirror. He conjured a general hypospray and immediately dosed himself. He sighed in relief as his arousal disappeared. He began to glamour himself, a thin sheen of magic covering over his less than stellar features. After taking a few gulps of cold water he stopped hunching over the sink and stood. He dried his hands, mussed up his hair a little more, and made to walk out the door. He stopped, feeling nausea rise into his throat. He stopped himself, bringing a hand to his stomach, before forcing composure. **_‘Don’t be so pathetic, you know how to do this.’_ ** He opened the door and made to go downstairs, but stopped as he noticed a small set of french doors, leading to a balcony on the side of the house. 

He could sense his friends wondering where he was. However, the chance for peace and quiet was too tempting. He slipped through them, finding himself on a tight fitting, but charming balcony. He breathed in the air, enjoying the scent of nature that wasn’t too badly tinged with the smell of teenagers that inevitably involved hormones, arousal, or B/O. “Found the sweet spot, huh?” Stiles wheeled around, hand flying to the small of his back, then stopped. Derek Hale stood before him, two bottles of beer in his hand. His face was blank, but he held out the beer. Stiles looked at him, but the taller man smirked. “You’ll take coffee I buy you, but not beer? That I also bought?” Stiles raised an eyebrow but took it, staring at the label.

“Stella? Not Bud Light?” Derek scowled. 

“I don’t drink piss.”

“Not into watersports then.” Stiles took a swig, trying not to blush as Derek chuckled darkly.

“Not in the slightest.” He stood next to Stiles, taking a deep breath of the night air. “I was surprised you came. Allison said she invited you.” 

“You and Allison talk about me now?” Derek’s mood seemed to chift, he suddenly found his hands interesting. Stiles turned to stare at him. “Well...I’ll take this silence as a...yes?”

“We have a group chat, Allison, me, Isaac, a few others. She asked if anyone had invited you.” Stiles turned away. 

“I see.” Derek nodded, looking up at the shorter boy. 

“Does...that bother you? That she asked that?” Stiles quirked an eyebrow at him, tilting his head to the side. 

“If I have ever given the impression that I care what others say or think in regard to me, I assure you it was in jest.” Derek’s laughter was low and warm.

“Now, why do I think that’s true?” They drank their beers in silence. Stiles' mind was racing though. **_‘Why is he out here, did he follow me? Why would he follow me? He came up here with two beers, as if he was planning on giving it to me. Why would he want to do that?’_ **He glanced at the muscled, normally scowling man. 

“Derek,” he didn’t look at him, though he felt the lacrosse player’s piercing gaze on him, “you came up to the third floor with two beers...and the way in which you spoke to me...finding me here,” he gestured around them. “It sounds like you...were looking for me.” He turned to stare at the man. He was surprised to find Derek nodding. 

“I was,” he stated simply. 

“This makes no sense. Why have you gone out of your way to -” He was cut off.

“Because you’re not like anyone else here.” Derek had growled, actually growled. He may not have realized it, but Stiles recognized the tell tale signs of a wolf. Stiles stopped. He narrowed his eyes at him and stared till the man looked away, huffing harshly. 

“What exactly are you talking about?” Derek took a moment before looking off into the distance. 

“Before...before you got here, it was the talk of the town. All of Beacon Hills was interested to know about the Sheriff’s secret son.” Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“I’m hardly a secret. It’s never been hidden that he had children before Scott or Isaac came along.” Derek shook his head.

“Nobody knew you though, so people were curious why you’d never...been around?” Derek shrugged, seeming embarrassed. “So, it’s all anyone really talked about for a while, especially since it was the end of the school year and we heard that you’d be coming here next year. I also think it has something to do with biology. You’re his only biological kid, unlike Scott and Isaac.” 

Stiles held up a hand, stopping Derek. “This doesn’t explain why you’re being so kind. All it does is tell me that this town has a penchant for gossip, something I’ve already figured out.” Derek smirked.

“Sucks, right?” He took a swig. “Ultimately, my point is that people assume a lot of things. And then Scott started mouthing off and…” Derek trailed off, noticing how Stiles tensed up at the mention of his adoptive brother. “Sorry, I bet you didn’t need to know that.” Stiles took a deep breath, but shook his head. 

“Scott struck me, almost instantly, as both inconsiderate, foolish, and a bully.” Derek fidgeted, he seemed uneasy. “Am I wrong?”

Derek spread his hands. “I’ve known Scott my whole life, he’s...a puppy. And like a puppy he’s overly confident and not exactly trained in life or...well, anything.” Stiles scoffed. 

“So you decided I needed your pity because everyone was talking about me and assuming things?” Stiles let his growing irritation seep into his voice. Derek shook his head vigorously, brows furrowed.

“That’s not what I’m saying. I just…” He looked off, scowling. “I’ve gotten to see a little bit of you and I know what it’s like for people to assume things. Assume things about you. And before you get upset like in class, I’m just saying that...okay,” he sighed, turning to Stiles. “My mom and your mom -”

“They were good friends, I know.” Stiles voice was soft, his liquid amber eyes staring into the sky as the night faded around them. Derek scowled. 

“How did you know?” Stiles shrugged.

“Your mother introduced herself to me today. She told me they grew up together. Is this your way of telling me your mother asked you to look out for me and you’re doing so out of pity?” Stiles couldn’t help the unbidden thoughts, calling him weak and pathetic, asking him when he’d become so foolish as to think these things, to be attracted to someone so obviously just pitying him. 

“No, Stiles, that’s not -” Derek was cut off. 

“It’s fine. I’m glad your mother thinks well of her old friend.” Stiles chugged his beer down and turned to leave. Derek’s arm darted out, grabbing Stiles shoulder. This was a bad idea. Stiles went into defense mode. He crouched, grabbed Derek’s wrist, and twisted around, while at the same time he slammed Derek’s wrist downward, reaching to grab his throat. The moment he felt the strong neck beneath his hands, he whipped Derek around, and backed him against the railing. “Don’t. Ever. Touch. Me.” Stiles released him, the jock falling to the ground, coughing hysterically. Stiles stormed downstairs. The party was still in full swing.

**_Stiles - Roscoe! Time?_ **

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - It is currently 1:30 A.M. sir. May I also say that it may not have been the most appropriate response to Mr. Hale when you -_ **

**_Stiles - Silence_ **

Roscoe knew better than to argue. Stiles walked outside. The twins both winced, their noses catching Stiles acrid smell. Lydia looked up from where she was having a passive-aggressive “conversation” with a few cheerleaders. She immediately clicked her fingers at Jackson. He looked at Stiles, his eyes flashing as he stood. “Hey Stiles,” cheered Isaac. He was drunk. Stiles looked at him, not hiding his contempt. 

“Hello, Goodbye. You four, we’re leaving.” They stood, quickly realizing their friends' need to leave was imperative. He was barely holding it together.

“Ah, come on Stiles, stick around,” slurred Isaac. He giggled. 

“Let him go.” Stiles glanced over. Scott was drunk, though not nearly as drunk as Isaac. He had scoffed at them. Stiles briefly debated firing off a few blasts from his side arm, but decided against it. He ignored Scott. Unfortunately, Aidan wasn’t so pleased. 

“What’d you say,” he tensed, his muscles flexing and rippling, veins becoming more prominent. Scott looked at him, confused. 

“Well, he said he wanted to go, and it’s not like he wants to be here. At all. So he can go.” Stiles looked at Aidan like a lost puppy, as if confused by the animosity. Then Scott seemed more confused. “Why are you listening to him anyway? I know you’re his friends, but you don’t have to leave. You all seem cool.” Lydia piped up.

“Where Stiles goes, we go. And we’re leaving.” She picked up her clutch and snapped at the three boys. “Let’s move it.” 

The days and weeks after the party were tense. Stiles avoided any conversation regarding the events that occured. Unfortunately, Derek and him seemed to have reverted to merely discussing readings perfunctorily, though it was nice that Derek still brought him coffee, and Stiles kept it going too, which Stiles had been surprised by. The whole school was awash in rumors about how Stiles had apparently stormed off. Stiles snorted as he looked down at his notes for AP Chem, he was hardly surprised. Instead, he and his friends spent time discussing Corey. While he would routinely enjoy time with them, if his phone sounded his alarm he’d suddenly get nervous and have to go home. What’s more, is that Corey refused to let them come over. Normally they’d invade his privacy, but Stiles felt it best to stay back...for now. Speaking of, he leant back and looked around the nook. Corey was late. The chairs and table had been changed out for some antique furniture Lydia had found at a thrift shop. A small bronzium aromatherapy air dispenser puffed away. Jackson and Aidan had skipped school, visiting various houses for sale. He finally spotted his friend. Corey walked up to the table, sitting in what had become his designated chair, next to Stiles. He held out a container.

“Lydia said you haven’t been eating enough.” Stiles glanced at the container. Fried balls of red bean paste, brown rice, tofu, and mushroom covered in a very spicy curry sauce. “She said this was a favorite of yours? Red Kibble?” Stiles nodded his thanks, popped the container, and ate one before pushing it towards Corey. The sophomore sighed, but willingly ate one. He practically moaned, before immediately chugging water. Stiles raised an eyebrow.

“It has red in its name for a reason.” Corey just gave him a baleful look. They studied in silence, Ethan eventually joining them. Stiles remained silent, having gone back to being silent the majority of the time, rarely speaking. His friends spent late nights discussing how this reminded them of how Stiles was after the funeral. At the McCall-Stilinski household, Stiles had fully withdrawn to his room. Lydia has cast an undetectable extension charm, and then used flat dimension tech to create a decently sized bathroom. It was close quarters, but it reminded them all of their first ship. While the _Baloo_ was gone, having been scrapped after being permanently damaged during a particularly backbreaking mission, it had taught them all how to handle being so close. And with phase technology and magic, it was easy to hide their presence. Corey had been told that the new house wasn’t ready yet and that was why the four were always at Stiles and spent the evening at hotels, the same story the school had been given. The friends were glad they could surround Stiles with friendship and cuddles. Aidan and Ethan, being pureblooded lycans, routinely pulled him into puppy piles with Jackson. Especially after Scott and him had encountered one another briefly in the kitchen when nobody else was home. Scott had glared at Stiles, but knew better than to speak. 

Now here they were, at the end of October, the fall in full swing, the temperature dipping down and Halloween right around the corner. Stiles stared outside. He rubbed his eyes, his HUD going fuzzy. He switched it off. 

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - That’s the tenth day in a row you’ve shut off your heads up display._ **

**_Stiles - And you’re keeping track, because?_ **

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - It’s my job to -_ **

**_Stiles - Your job is to monitor this school, this godforsaken wasteland, lack of anything so much as a cultured populace, to make sure I survive for the next two years. In regard to my HUD? Leave it alone._ **

Roscoe didn’t respond. Stiles rubbed his eyes again. He turned back to his book, but stopped. He looked up and narrowed his eyes. Jackson was walking towards their table, next to him was Derek. Jackson’s face was blank, but he cast his mind towards Stiles. His emotions were trepidatious, cautious. Derek himself looked wooden. “Stiles, Corey, what’s up?” Jackson’s normally bored tone was light and airy, lacking any of it’s normal derision. Corey responded, even toned, whereas Stiles just stared. Jackson turned to Derek and gestured. Derek rubbed his neck, before raising his eyes to meet Stiles. He took a breath. 

“Allison wanted me to let you know about our Halloween Party, the one thrown by the Lacrosse team that is.” Stiles merely stared at him.

“Yes, because I so enjoyed the last party I attended with a bunch of braindead jocks who are as clichéd as the Breakfast Club characters.” Corey barked out a laugh that turned off abruptly at Derek’s stare. He turned back to Stiles.

“I...know that it wasn’t an ideal situation last time. However, she insisted you be invited. So,” he shrugged, suddenly awkward, “there. You’re invited.” Derek turned and walked away, Jackson inspecting him in a quizzical manner. He turned to Stiles. 

“What?” He was snappy and in no mood, he felt a headache coming on.

“We should go.” Stiles growled at him.

**______________________________**

Stiles was unsure as to how this had happened. He looked in the mirror, scowling at his reflection. He had honestly hoped to beg off, claiming fatigue. Now he was absolutely convinced that Lydia had convinced Jackson and Ethan to seduce him. Halloween fell on a Friday, the school doing early release at 1 P.M. An hour later he found himself sweating profusely as Ethan pummeled into him and he curled his tongue into Jackson’s hole. He’d consumed enough blood, seed, and chi to power a decent sized city. Both boys were still napping, Lydia claiming their costumes didn’t require them to have a lot of prep time. Now here he was, standing in front of his mirrors, as a genderbent version of Harley Quinn. Aidan smacked his ass as he walked by. Stiles had to admit, the costume was...a turn on. Tight, distressed leather booty shorts, a tight crop top, harness, greaved boots with knee pads that strapped to the belt, shoulder pads, vambraces, and red leather opera gloves. He even had his own bat. To top it all off his hair, which was now longer, had been bleached and had streaks of red and blue. Stamped across the crop top in thick bubble letters were the words “Daddy’s Lil’ Monster.” Aidan and Corey had both burst out laughing upon seeing it.

Lydia grabbed his face, applying one last line of eyeliner, before stepping back. She was dressed as Nurse Elle Driver in Kill Bill, including the eye patch. She tapped her red lips, before smiling. “Perfect.” He turned back and had to admit...he looked good. His muscles were showing off, including his prominent biceps and abs. And his best asset, literally, was extra plump, high and tight. Lydia turned to Aidan, who stood shirtless and barefoot. “Go and get the boys and get ready.” He nodded. They had told Corey that Stiles had found the two of them asleep in his bed, but they suspected the young boy knew better. Corey was dressed as Robin, Lydia having bought his costume for him despite his protests. Twenty minutes later the three of them were back in Stiles' room where Corey was taken aback. Both Aidan and Ethan’s fangs and claws were out, their eyes red, and their faces had taken on a wolfish appearance. Flat hair had even sprouted on their forearms. 

“Whoa! Cool! How’d you do that in thirty minutes.” The twins smirked, playing it off and saying that it was really good stuff, the best that money could buy.

**_Stiles - Halloween, the only night of the year you could partially shift and hang out with humans. I don’t know whether to be concerned or amused._ **

**_Aidan and Ethan - Both._ **

Jackson appeared from around the curtain in nothing but raybans, a white button up, underwear, and socks. Stiles snorted loudly. “Really, Tom Cruise in Risky Business? You sure people will get the reference.” Jackson peaked at him from over the sunglasses. 

“Just you wait, Stilinski. This is an iconic look.” 

They all swung down the tree outside Stiles window, Corey wrapped around Ethan’s back. They stole off through the yard. They were taking Lydia’s SUV, a massive Cadillac Escalade parked around the corner from the house. As they pulled up to Allison’s they could see that the party was in full swing, teens spilling out on the veranda in various costumes or states of undress. Lydia turned to them all and smirked. “Let’s show these cunts how you really do Halloween.” The boys laughed and even Stiles smirked a little. Almost as if on cue they opened their doors and the song Bright Lights, Bigger City by Cee-Lo began playing. They couldn’t help but be amused as all eyes turned to them as the bass picked up, strutting to the house, Stiles leading the pack with his baseball bat casually slung over his shoulder. The crowd in the house parted for them. Aidan had come prepared, slipping off his backpack and pulling out a premade mix. He pulled out regular glasses and began salting the rims for Halloween Margaritas. He also made sure to steal a few limes and tequila from the Argent’s supplies later. They all cheered, looking around at the crowd. The stench of beer, liquor, mingled with too much perfume, cologne, and sweat. The energy though, was infectious. Lydia turned to Stiles, raising an eyebrow

“Yes,” he asked, somewhat amused at her devious stare. He was energized, the remainder of the bloodlust conquest raging beneath his skin. She suddenly struck forward and slapped him, hard. He ripped back, fangs elongated, eyes shining, and snarled. “How dare you strike me! And what for!?” Even though he’d yelled, nobody could really hear it over the noise. She pointed at his face.

“That’s why. Keep it like that.” She then grabbed Aidan and pulled him to dance. Ethan and Jackson were cracking up. Stiles turned to them and groaned. As he awakened Corey from the sleeping spell, obviously cast on him to prevent him from noticing Stiles transformation, he sent out a mental message.

**_Stiles - STOP KNOCKING HIM OUT_ **

His friends all burst out laughing.

As the night wore on Stiles was surprised to find himself enjoying the evening. While he didn’t dance, he enjoyed watching his friends have fun. Corey especially seemed to let loose. Stiles migrated outside to the fire pit, sipping from a bottle of Stella. He looked at the fire, letting the flames entrance him. As he found himself falling into a deeper calm he felt a stirring in his body. He finally realized he was starting to produce the tiniest bit of slick. He shifted, uncomfortable. **_‘What the fuck...why am I getting ready to mate?’_ ** He took a swig of beer again, immediately feeling the heat rise in him. He stopped, slowly pulling back the beer and staring at it. He tried to stop himself, he really did. Slowly his face screwed up and he burst out laughing. **_‘Stella makes me think of Derek Hale!’_ **Stiles bent over, tears streaming down his face as he laughed uncontrollably. He slowly calmed down, hiccuping occasionally. He took one last swig from the bottle, not minding the warm punch in his stomach as it brought to mind a certain strong jawline and high cheekbones. 

“I haven’t heard you laugh since you first came here.” Stiles turned around and came face to face with Isaac. The boy’s head was cocked, like a puppy. He was guarded, but seemed surprised to find Stiles laughing. The amber eyed boy inspected his adoptive sibling. He slowly nodded. 

“I...haven’t had much to laugh about.” Isaac nodded, looking towards the house, before looking back. His eyes went up and down Stiles, before giving him a genuine smile.

“Your costume is great. Genderbent Harley Quinn?” Stiles was surprised, but slowly nodded.

“Batman is awesome, especially his enemies.” Stiles and Isaac turned, finding themselves face to face with a catsuit clad Erica, a pair of cat ears on her head and a whip at her waist. She looked at Stiles appreciatively. “Nice Stilinski. You look hot,” Stiles couldn’t stop the blush as she looked around and stared openly at his ass. “Wow, you really do have the best ass among all the guys in school.” Isaac chuckled as Stiles’ cheeks went red, no pun intended. 

“Um...thanks Erica. You look...good.” Erica preened.

“That’s the first time you’ve ever been speechless I think,” she winked at him, before turning over her shoulder. “Der! Over here!” Stiles blushed even harder as the three of them looked over at the tall and brooding man. Stiles’ mouth ran dry. He was glad that it seemed he wouldn’t be wetting himself with slick, but he felt blood rush south. While it seemed Isaac had gone for a zombie look, if the random blood and green paint and torn clothes were anything to go by, and Erica was Catwoman, Derek Hale had decided to go and be a high school jock version of Superman. He wore tight blue jeans, a red leather jacket, and a tee with the Superman S. He wore boots and his hair was slicked black, fake glasses perched on his nose. His face was completely free of stubble. Though the grey shading of a recent shave was there. Stiles' mouth went dry as he couldn’t help but stare. The worst part? Derek was staring straight at him, scowling slightly, but green eyes piercing Stiles own glowing amber ones. 

“Derek! Looks like Laura convinced you to wear it after all?” Derek scowled at Erica, but nodded. Isaac turned to Stiles.

“Allison wanted a theme, characters or creatures from different franchises. Scott wanted us to be Zombies from Resident Evil cause Allison is dressed as Alice.” Stiles nodded, but couldn’t help himself.

**_Stiles - Roscoe?_ **

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - - Yes, sir?_ **

**_Stiles - Please look up Resident Evil and a character called Alice. I’ve absolutely no idea what this all means._ **

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - Yes, sir. Right away, sir._ **

Stiles found himself face to face with a cold bottle of Stella, cap off, held in Derek’s hand. He looked at the piercing green eyes and reached up, taking it, nodding. He would never admit that a shiver ran through him when his fingers brushed Derek’s. A few minutes later he found Phoenix Squadron and Corey had joined him. Ethan handed Stiles a thin, cylindrical glass, full of a clear liquid. He had finished his beer, and took a sip. He moaned. He heard a crunch from across the fire. Derek was staring at him, breathing heavily through his nostrils. Stiles had no idea what came over him, but all he knew was that he wanted to see that look again. He stared at Derek, until a slight tinge of red covered the man's cheeks. He then drank some of the mixture, the faelnirv, again. Derek’s eyes dropped to his throat, before flicking back to Stiles’ eyes. Out of nowhere, he felt boldness overcome him. He winked at Derek, finished the tube, and turned to Corey. The young man was swaying slightly, turning to Stiles and giving him a dopey smile. Stiles felt himself want to chuckle, but stopped. “Aidan.” The lycan came over, grinning at the swaying Corey.

“Come on, boy wonder. Time for some water.” Corey wanted to protest, but Aidan just steered him with a firm grip to the house. Stiles walked over to Lydia, removed his matte black hip flask and took a swig. She raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I can’t believe you put Isabella’s Islay in a hip flask.” A girl dressed in a green and white japanese school girls uniform with a red bow and quiver of arrows turned to them. Stiles recognized her as Kira Yukimura, a member of the varsity soccer team and Allison’s close friend. 

“What’s that,” she asked curiously. Lydia turned to her.

“Just the most expensive whiskey on the planet and Stiles feels it’s okay to put it in a hip flask. Seriously, Stiles,” she said turning back to him, “one sip is six million dollars.” Stiles rolled his eyes at her, taking another swig. 

“Six million dollars,” Kira’s voice was full of disbelief. “You’re drinking whiskey worth six million.” Jackson came over, having heard the convo. 

“Pfft,” he scoffed, “six million is pocket change to Stiles. Though, I’m with Lydia, you should’ve put in the MaCallan M.” Stiles cuffed him. 

“Yes, because a whiskey worth over six hundred thousand is less decadent. After a certain value point, it’s all the same.” Kira stared at Stiles with wonder. 

“Just how much money do you have Stiles? I mean, Scott said you were rich, but,” she trailed off as Stiles leveled his amber eyes at her, his eyes narrowing. “Sorry, I...I shouldn’t have pried.” Stiles could feel her genuine emotions and stopped glaring. He shrugged. 

“It’s fine. Curiosity is normal, though it seems everyone is curious in regard to me. As for money…” He trailed off and shrugged, not seeing any point in denying it. “My mother left me everything. I’m quite comfortable.” Ethan piped up, muttering low.

“Comfortable is one word for it.” Without looking, Lydia hit him in the stomach with her forearm, the lycan doubling over.

“Huh-yuh.” He heaved, his friends laughing at him. Stiles took another swig, letting the sound of conversation wash over him. He sat next to Lydia, staring at the fire again. She brushed her fingers through his hair. He began to purr and she laughed.

“So, you’re relaxed this evening.” He nodded, still staring at the dancing flames. “And you flirted with Derek.” He stopped and slowly turned to her. She lifted up her eye patch, leveling her gaze at him, smirking. “I saw that little wink, fox.” Stiles raised an eyebrow and turned back to the fire. He felt his body warm at the thought of Derek flirting with him. 

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Mhm,” Lydia clearly wasn’t convinced. Stiles continued to look into the dancing flames, lulled into peace by remembering the fires created by the sparse grass and brush that his mother had made when they journeyed high into the steppe for training. 

The party continued to rage on, never really dying down. Allison, in a red dress with combat boots, and a toy plastic gun, kept playing the perfect hostess. She had come over and hugged Stiles tightly, telling him she was glad he came and extolled the sexiness of his costume, heaping praise on Lydia when Stiles gave the ban sidhe credit. The faelnirv, made from spun moonbeams and elderberries, was one of the few things that could intoxicate him on planet Earth. He now found that the whiskey was having an effect which he found pleasant. His body felt looser, his limbs less rigid. He stood, steadying himself on Aidan’s shoulder, the lycan having returned with a far more sober Corey, who Lydia had banned from faelnirv. The boy kept nursing a beer, content to just converse with his new friends. Lydia and Aidan were quizzing him on what they’d taught him so far about yoga poses and stretching, occasionally prying into his home life. Stiles walked to the house, needing a bathroom. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, before slowly nodding and deciding to journey to the third floor. He sighed in pleasure as he released his full bladder, before tucking himself back into the admittedly tight leather shorts, and washing up. He then stepped out onto the balcony. The night air filled his lungs, loosening his chest. He stood there, admiring the stars. 

“It’s beautiful tonight.” Stiles turned, his eyes seeming to glow brighter. Derek had removed the fake glasses, tucking them on his shirt’s neck. His hair was mussed up, no longer slicked back, like he had run his hand through it in frustration. He held two beers. Stiles stared and felt a new kind of warmth blossom in his chest, reaching out and slowly taking the green bottle. 

“What is with us and beverages,” he asked in a soft voice. Almost a whisper. Derek slowly smiled softly at him.

“I’ve no clue.” He stood next to Stiles, staring at him, while taking a swig. “What were you drinking before?” Stiles arched an eyebrow. “When...when you, um...moaned?” Stiles hummed in acknowledgment. 

“A drink that you’d be hard pressed to find her. It was made by...friends...yes, friends of my mother’s, back east. Moonbeams and Elderberries, fermented. It’s called faelnirv. Lydia made sure to bring some with her when they all moved here. It’s,” he breathed out, closing his eyes, gulping, “delicious.” He opened his eyes, finding Derek staring at him, blushing. “Something the matter, Derek.” The jock looked away, clearing his throat, scowling. They fell into a companionable silence, looking at the stars, but there was a tension in the air, growing thick. Stiles couldn’t help but remember the last time they were on this balcony he had lashed out. He wasn’t sure why, now. He’d believed Derek was making assumptions about him, pitying his circumstances. Yet, Stiles wondered if he was acting irrationally. He had replayed the conversation in his head multiple times, each time finding fault with his own actions and words. **_‘Only one thing to do, I guess…’_ **He turned to Derek, but stopped before he could say anything.

“I’m sorry for the last time, during homecoming. I shouldn’t have assumed I could help.” Stiles blanched, eyes going wide. 

“Help,” he asked. Derek nodded, blushing.

“I...I thought I could help you, open up? Feel more welcomed, I guess. It didn’t seem right that you had -” Derek stopped, Stiles placing a hand on his bicep. He turned and looked at him, surprising them both when he said, “your eyes are beautiful.” The air around them seemed to disappear. Both of them were holding their breaths. Stiles couldn’t help himself, as he felt himself fidget, his body thrumming.

“Yours...yours are too. Green. So green.” He facepalmed internally. **_‘So green? Really?.’_ **Derek smirked, almost wolfishly. 

“You’ve noticed my eyes?” He got closer, his breath hitting Stiles nose. Normally Stiles recoiled at things like this, but Derek’s breath smelt of beer, mint, whiskey, and it mingled with his natural smell of burning wood, tobacco, gasoline, leather, and cinnamon. It was a heady combination that made Stiles wonder what it’d be like to be surrounded by the scent, preferably while Derek’s sweat dripped down on him as he thrust in and out of Stiles, his hole clenching at the thought. Stiles whimpered as Derek got even closer. 

“How did you get your eyes like this,” Derek reached out, touching a single finger to his cheek. Stiles skin burned at the contact. Stiles wasn’t sure what to say, but leaned into the touch. Derek set down his beer on the railing, taking Stiles as well. “Contacts?” Stiles nodded, slowly. Eyes flickering all over Derek’s face. “They look real.” Stiles couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing. **_‘If only he knew.’_ **He calmed down and looked at Derek, the man watching him closely. He suddenly felt self conscious and looked down. He felt strong fingers cup his jaw, making him look up. “I like when you laugh...and I like your eyes like this.” Stiles couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow. 

“Only when they’re like this?” Derek got closer, practically nothing separating them, His hand dropped, awkwardly, but Derek looked down as if deciding on something, before settling it near Stiles waist, almost touching. Stiles leaned into it, Derek’s hand settling on his hip. 

“I like a lot about you...especially these.” He poked one of Stiles moles. Stiles wanted to giggle, but felt awkward and looked off. 

“They’re ugly.” Derek’s hands circled his waist, pulling Stiles against him, hard. 

“There is **nothing** ugly about you,” Derek’s voice was harsh and low, a growl. Stiles looked at him. He tried, once more, to probe Derek’s thoughts, but as usual his way was blocked by mental barriers he couldn’t explain. Stiles settled his hands slowly on Derek’s chest. He then realized something, Derek’s thumbs were rubbing little circles on his lower back. He found himself leaning back into the touch, Derek pressing harder. “You’re always so tense.” Stiles cocked his head at him.

“As the pot said to the kettle. I believe your eyebrows will eventually permanently knit themselves together.” He smirked, a pointed fang appearing just over his lip, as Derek did just that, scowling at him. “Why are you so tense all the time?”

Derek made an exasperated, annoyed sound. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I asked first.” Derek sighed, looking up to the stars, but merely pulled Stiles more flush against him. Stiles blushed, feeling his dick begin to swell as he was pressed harder against Derek’s thigh. Stiles was about to say something, and pull away, when Derek spoke up.

“I told you I know what it’s like to have assumptions made about you. That’s...because of who I am.” He didn’t meet Stiles eyes, but continued talking. “I’ve always enjoyed sports, but baseball is the only thing I’ve truly loved. After that? I work out because it makes me feel good, I prefer to go hiking, horseback riding...but everyone assumes I’m just some sports obsessed jock. The guys expect me to sleep with every hot girl who throws herself at me, to be at all of the right parties, dressed in the right way, hang with the right people. What the fuck even are the right people,” his last sentence was an annoyed huff. He hadn’t once looked down from the sky, but seemed to tighten his grip on Stiles’ waist. The genderbent Harley Quinn was full on hard, hoping beyond hope that Derek wouldn’t notice. His shorts were as tight as ever. Derek finally looked down. “People have assumed things about you from the start and you just ignore it all. You just...do you. You don’t care what they think. I struggle with anger everytime I tell my teammates I need to study and they complain, without any recognition that I’m in three advanced classes, but I don’t say a thing. You just, you’re yourself. It’s...brave.” Stiles contemplated him quietly. He was entirely unsure what to feel. He felt awkward at the physical attention, but craved it now. He didn’t want to let go of Derek. He craved to hear his voice, but couldn’t bring himself to admit it openly or out loud. Now, Derek had revealed something, finally giving context to his concern. 

**_‘He shouldn’t concern himself with me. Those who do, end up dead.’_ **Stiles began to feel himself shut down, when Derek’s hands splayed and pulled him tighter, the taller man growling. 

“Don’t. Don’t do that. Don’t cut me out.” Stiles barely heard the words because all he could do was blush and short circuit internally. Intentional or not, when Derek had splayed his hands and pulled Stiles against him again, he had cupped Stiles ass. And he was now squeezing it, hard. Stiles opened his mouth slightly, tongue wetting his lips. Then, he embarrassed himself, releasing an absolute filthy moan. Derek’s pulse quickened and he blushed hard, his eyes flicking down to Stiles lips. “Are...are you hurt, did I hurt you?” His voice was becoming panicky. 

“No,” burst Stiles. “No, it’s just...you, um...your hands.” Derek paused, before he turned beet red, seeming to realize where his hands were. Instead of removing them, he squeezed slightly. Stiles shuddered at the delicious feeling of Derek kneading his cheeks. Seeing Stiles' happy response, he began doing it more, harder. Stiles couldn’t help it, his head falling to Derek’s chest, as he breathed through his nose. He pulled back with a squeak when he felt a strap snap against his ass. Derek looked at him, his eyebrows knitted together, breathing in. 

“Is...is this a...Jockstrap?” He pulled the band. Stiles blushed, but nodded. “Fuuuck,” he ground out. His thumbs dug into the waistband of his leather shorts, tugging on the jockstrap, before his head fell to Stiles forehead and he moaned. “Stiles...is it a thong too?” Stiles pulled away from Derek, moving to the end of the balcony. The jock looked distraught, unsure as to what he’d done wrong, before looking curiously as Stiles began to unbutton the leather booty shorts, not taking his eyes off Derek. 

**_‘What am I doing…’_ ** Stiles couldn’t help the self consciousness filling his mind, but he hadn’t felt like this in forever. While he no longer had the bloodlust flowing through him, Derek’s touch had filled him with want, filled him with confidence. His eyes glanced at Derek’s crotch. The front of it was straining. **_‘He’s hard too, and he’s big...really big.’_ **Stiles’ mouth began to water. He then looked at Derek, feeling bold, and smirked, He pushed the leather shorts down, and carefully maneuvered his boot clad legs and feet through them, removing the shorts, dropping them to the side, and turning away, letting his ass stick out. The deck shook as Derek darted forward, his hand landing right on Stiles ass. He then stopped, Stiles looking over his shoulder. Derek’s arousal was flowing off him in waves, but Stiles felt his confidence ebb away. “Did...did I misread this,” he asked in a small voice. Derek immediately plastered himself against Stiles back. 

“Fuck, Stiles, your ass…” He kneaded the cheeks. Stiles twisted around, suddenly wanting to see Derek’s face. He looked up, seeing green eyes blown out with lust. Derek had one hand wrapped in the back band, inadvertently pulling the thongs fabric against his hole. The warmth of arousal filled him. If it weren’t for the remains of his last general hypospray, he’d have had slick flowing down his legs. As such, he felt the fabric get wet as his arousal grew. Stiles moaned, loudly. “I always stare at it. Bouncing.” Derek grabbed it and growled, watching Stiles face filled with pleasure, the shorter boy moaning. He couldn’t believe this. Derek Hale was kneading his ass, tugging on his thong jockstrap, practically bruising Stiles hips with his grip. Derek pressed forward, their erections rubbing on each other. Stiles kept going over this in his head, wondering how this was actually happening. “Stop,” Derek’s hand had come up to his throat, wrapping around it lightly. “Stop thinking so much.” His grip tightened and Stiles keened, pressing his throat against Derek’s palm.

“I,” Stiles voice was breathy and full of want, “I guess if I don’t, you’ll…” Stiles trailed off, unsure if he wanted to go in this direction, his arousal muddling his brain. Derek glared, and tightened his hand on Stiles throat. 

“I’ll what, Stiles?” Stiles forced the words out.

“If I don’t stop thinking, you’ll punish me?” His voice was breathy and needy, but he smirked, and his eyes gave Derek a challenging look. Almost as if on cue, Stiles moaned loudly as Derek’s palm came down, flat on his ass, hard. The man smirked, his eyebrows knitted together. 

“Yeah...in fact, I think you do need to be punished. Especially for wearing this outfit in public and not…just for me, in private.” He wheeled Stiles around, pressed him against the railing, forced his legs apart, one hand on his throat, the other tightly pulling the thong against his ass. Stiles moaned. Derek shoved two fingers in his mouth, Stiles moaning even harder, sucking on them. “Quiet, baby,” Stiles’ eyes opened, shocked. He hadn’t been expecting a pet nickname. Before he could think on it further, his arousal spiked as Derek began spanking him. Slow deliberate smacks, hard, against his cheeks. He lost himself as Derek turned his checks from milky white to twin mounds of angry red. He was keening when Derek finished, yanking the fabric against his hole. The front of the jockstrap was wet with his precum. Derek let go of his throat, hands wrapping around his waist, turning Stiles around, pressing against him. Stiles legs were like rubber, the boy barely able to stand. Derek rubbed his ass with his hands, soothing them. They stayed like that for a while before Stiles pulled back. He inspected Derek.

He was unsure what to think after this. Clearly the jock was attracted to him, very attracted to him. And they were sexually compatible, Derek able to figure out quickly Stiles was into being dominated on some level, actually enjoyed getting punished. But, he couldn't stop the nagging feelings. He didn’t want to be someone’s experiment. He had no wanting or time to be some jock’s teenage fuck buddy. The guy they’d embarrassingly remember when pounding their former cheerleader of a wife ten years down the line. Before he could pull himself away, Derek held a finger up to his lips. 

“Stop. You’re doing it again.” He looked at the green eyed man, pupils blown, dick straining in his jeans against Stiles hip. Slowly, he leaned in, getting ever so closer. 

“Derek, I-”

“Stiles,” he asked in a whisper, breath ghosting over his nose.

Stiles gulped. “Ye...yes?”

“Shut up.” His lips got so close, ghosting over his own. 

Angry shouts and the unmistakable roar of a lycan filled the air. Stiles jerked back, eyes flashing as he looked in the direction of the fire pit, obscured by the trees and house. The balcony was on the side, the pit in the backyard. More angry shouts filled the air. Stiles snatched up his leather booty shorts, flailing as he pulled them on. He grabbed his beer, chugging it, before tossing the bottle over his shoulder and looking at Derek. The man looked ready to punch a wall, but Stiles suspected it had to do with being interrupted than with Stiles pulling away. “Come on,” urged Stiles. Derek sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, chugged his beer, and followed Stiles as they ran down the house and into the backyard. Stiles wasn’t happy with what he found. 

Corey was behind Ethan and Jackson, the latter with a comforting hand on his shoulder. Corey’s eyes were wet. He was crying. Aidan was the one who had growled, setting himself between them all and...of course, Scott fucking McCall. A sneer on his face, surrounded by his stupid jock friends. Stiles grip on his bat tightened. He walked over and stood next to Lydia, her green eyes taking on a dangerous metallic tint. “What’s going on.” Aidan growled. “That’s enough, stand down.” Aidan obeyed, but didn’t move, standing behind him and Lydia. Scott sneered at him.

“Been meaning to ask, what the fuck are you wearing? You look so gay. Daddy’s Lil’ Monster? That’s disgusting.” Stiles rolled his eyes. Derek came over and stood with his friends by the fire pit, he scowled. Stiles sighed but stepped forward. 

“What’s the problem, why is Corey crying.” Some kids Stiles had routinely seen with Scott piped up. Theo, Stiles believed his name was.

“Because he’s a faggot little bitch is why. He shouldn’t be here.” Lydia stepped forward, murder in her eyes. Stiles held out a hand and stayed her advance. She stared straight at Theo, clearly intent on killing him. 

“Really? This is the problem? Everyone was having a good time and you all ruin it because you have a problem with Corey? What're you? Five? He wasn’t bothering anybody.” Stiles hand tightened on his bat, a slow smirk appearing on his face. “Unless...you are acting like this because you have a crush on him.” Phoenix Squadron laughed, even a few of the people around the fire joined in. Scott’s face turned dark, his anger rising, before he snarled. 

“I’m not a fag. I wouldn’t disappoint my dad like that.” Stiles recoiled ever so slightly, but Scott saw and drove the point home, a cruel smile appearing on his face. “I’m not a disappointment, neither is Isaac, unlike you.” Stiles eyes had lost their glow, a sickly yellow sheen covering them as his mind began to play those words over. Scott stepped forward, while ignoring Allison’s pleas for him to stop. “ **My** dad wants sons who are men. Real men. Not freaks. Not **you**.” Jackson, Aidan, and Ethan began walking towards Scott, all three of them cracking knuckles. They stopped at the sound of Stiles voice.

“He isn’t worth it.” They stopped and wheeled around. 

“But...Stiles! He has...grossly insulted you and -”

“And he’s a child.” Stiles' voice was rough, harsh, his eyes closed. He slowly looked up. “He walked slowly towards Scott. “He has no reason to hate me, yet he does. He has no reason to despise me, yet he does. He is a child, nothing more than an inconsiderate bully not fit to play anywhere outside of a sand box.” His eyes hadn’t left Scott’s. “And he isn’t worth our time. He attacks Corey for no reason? He attacks me for no reason? He’s pathetic. And not worth our time.” Stiles turned, walking away. 

“At least I don’t try and go after people who don’t like me! That’s pretty fucking gross, trying to force someone to like you. Pretty rapey!” Stiles stopped, turning around and looking at Scott, raising an eyebrow.

“Huh, you really are daft.” Stiles was unsure as to what Scott was talking about. He merely shouldered his bat and began walking away. 

“You hit on Derek! It’s fucking gross. Why don’t you leave people who aren’t sick like you alone!?” Stiles stopped cold, turning slowly. It was some kid, Greenberg was his last name. He stood next to a meathead named Matt Daehler, Stiles had seen both of them routinely bully others. “We saw you on the balcony! Putting your hands on him. He was so uncomfortable but because he’s a good guy, he didn’t tell you to get off, you sick fuck.”Stiles stared at them, feeling anger surge beneath his skin and flick at his control. He made sure to check the locations of his kunai and twin stiletto daggers, tucked in his boots. Lydia was the first to speak.

“I’d suggest that you consider your next words carefully. They may well be your last.” Her voice was soft and deadly, raising her hands slightly, ready to grasp at her throat to prepare a concentrated sonic blast. The yard was thick with tension before Isaac piped up. 

“Derek isn’t gay, Stiles...you put your hands on him?” Isaac had a look of disappointment and disgust on his face. Stiles snarled, but Scott spoke up again.

“Derek, did he seriously put his hands on you? Tried to hit on you? Man I’m so sorry, that’s gross,” he gave Derek a look of bro-ish sympathy, then glared at Stiles. “Keep your hands off my friends! I’ll be telling my dad about this. This is disgusting and crosses the line! Maybe he’ll finally get rid of you like he should have. Like he’s talked about.”

The entire time, Derek had been arguing for a minute with some woman. Stiles recognized her. Laura, Derek’s older sister, a senior in high school. They were muttering angrily, tones harsh and clipped. Suddenly Laura reared up. “You touched my brother!?” Her voice was angry and accusatory. Aidan and Ethan roared, their voices echoing. 

“Stiles would never do such a thing!” Finally it was broken by Derek, who had started to argue with Matt, the meathead asking Derek why he wasn't defending himself against “this faggot.”

“I’m not a fag!” Stiles, who was glaring murder at Scott, refusing to back down, turned to Derek. Everyone was looking at him. “For fucks sakes Matt, I’m not gay. Stiles drank too much and tripped. I held him up and gave him some water and took him to get some fresh air. I’m not a fag though, so shut the fuck up.” He had grabbed Matt but the shirt and growled the last of his tirade in his face. He then pushed him away, the man stumbling and falling on his ass, Derek seemed to realize his own words though and turned to look at Stiles. The mole dotted man was already walking away. His friends looked torn, but quickly enough Lydia snapped at the four boys. 

“Let’s go, now.” 

They reached the car, finding Stiles leaning against it, breathing harshly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s panicking.” Jackson wrapped Stiles in his arm, maneuvering his friend against his chest, breathing. 

“Come on Stiles, breathe with me baby. In, out, in, out.” The sound of someone running up to them made them all turn, the twins snarling, Lydia ready to screech so loudly the person's brains would scramble. It was Derek. Before he could say anything, it was Corey who spoke.

“You’ve done enough. Go away.” Derek looked broken, staring at them as they all shielded Stiles from his view and into the car. They all got in, Lydia being the last. Allison and Isaac appeared next to Derek. She looked at all of them with disgust. Allison stepped forward, but Lydia held up a hand.

“Save it, Golden Girl.” She walked towards them, pulling off her eye patch and nurse's hat. “Your boyfriend is pathetic. The definition of someone with a large ego, no self-esteem, and little skill.” She flicked over to Isaac. “And you. You’re so afraid of your own past, you’re unable to see you’re becoming the very thing you despise.” Isaac went pale. She then looked at Derek. “As for you...stay the fuck away from Stiles...or they will never find what’s left of you.” She then got in the SUV and pulled away from the Argent house. 

**______________________________**

Stiles ignored Derek the monday after Halloween Weekend. The boy had approached him, slowly, in class, but Stiles refused to meet his gaze. Derek put down a cinnamon latte, extra large, on his desk, before sitting down. Stiles didn’t touch it the entire class and left it sitting there when he left. He hadn’t drank a drop. People at school looked at him, more than usual. Lydia strutted next to him, in a sand and sage green ensemble, purse clutched in her talons. “Well, at least we know that they aren’t discussing your fashion.” He raised an eyebrow at her. She waved him up and down. “Black, again. You do know that colors exist, right?” He chuckled, Lydia smiling that she could get him to laugh. Stiles found himself spending more and more time in the library. His excuse was their discovery of various books and items. A small, old copy of A Midsummer’s Night Dream in the theater section had turned out to be a glamoured, bark bound spell book. It had useful information about the Preserve. When not at school or in the library, Stiles had taken to spending time in the Beacon Hills Preserve. He was happy to discover a large number of gnomes, faeries, sprites, nymphs, elementals, goblins, and more inhabited it. As the days turned into weeks, Stiles found himself increasingly avoiding Derek. He’d hyposprayed himself every day, ensuring he felt none of the arousal he normally did. His skin grew more and more ashen, his appetite tapered off. 

Two weeks later he was thumbing through a compendium on witchcraft herbs he’d located in the cooking section. Sheaves with important faction business lay forgotten in his bag. He’d found his ability to focus more and more compromised. At home, he avoided Melissa and Noah, barely engaging with them. Scott had clearly told them nothing. He believed they were becoming used to Stiles behavior, accepting that the young man didn’t want to engage. The only high spot were his friends. Corey had taken to spending longer and longer times. Yet he never spent the night and shied away from showing off his body. This along with leaving whenever his phone went off, a look of fear on his face, had made Stiles concerned. He noted the herbs that could help compel truth, and wondered how he could augment classic interrogation techniques to get the truth out of Corey. He was getting less willing to play nice. Stiles stood, groaning as he stretched, but stopped when he came face to face with Theo Raeken, Matt Daheler, and Greenburg. All three were sneering at him. Stiles gave them all a blank stare. “Can I help you,” his tone made it clear he’d be doing nothing to assist them. Theo smirked. 

“Yeah,” and the two others walked towards Stiles. He knew what this was from the moment they took their first steps. As Matt made to grab him, Stiles reached out, pulled him towards, twisted his arm, flipped him around and kicked him towards Greenberg, hard. He leapfrogged over them both, hooking his legs around Theo’s neck and flipped the lacrosse player over his head, knocking into the other two bullies. They all groaned. Stiles leaned against a bookcase, crossing his arms. They all slowly got up, staring at Stiles, surprise and fear in their eyes.

“Was this of your own cognizance, or was this ordered?” They all looked at him. Stiles snarled.

“Who told you to do this!?” They all flinched. Stiles huffed. “Right, you guys just thought you’d do your pals Scott and Isaac a solid. Pathetic.” He turned and walked away from them. He spun around, grabbing the charging Greenberg by the throat and lifting him straight into the air with no effort. He flailed, looking at Stiles with fear as his face began to turn purple. Stiles leaned to the side and looked at the two others, both of their mouths hanging open. “Remember, far better men than you three have sworn to destroy me. Go and look for them now.” He then looked at Greenberg and threw him backwards, knocking Theo and Matt to the ground.

A few days after this Stiles was irritable, his eyes red and puffy. His nightmares were returning, not even a puppy pile able to give him a decent night's sleep. He sat with Corey and Jackson, going over the work he’d been ignoring. Ravensholme was run by seven councils, and above them was the Advisory Council, and then the Triumvirate. They were recommending individuals for promotion or demotion. Then there was the sticky issue, literally, of the privates found to have been making performance enhancing drugs. They had been caught and when they tried to escape one of them had knocked into a wall of the viscous liquid that would have been hardened into drug pellets for final distribution. Stiles looked up as Jackson growled and Corey scowled. Derek Hale, the man Stiles had been ignoring for almost three weeks, was walking towards them. Stiles reached down and pressed a hypospray into his side. He wanted no reaction to the man. Derek stopped at the table, Jackson growling, “what do you want, Hale?” Derek looked at Stiles, his expression flitting between blank and what looked like constipation. 

“My mother would like you to come to dinner,” he ground out. He shifted, his jaw tense, temple ticking. Stiles regarded him, eyes narrowed. “Well?” Derek had huffed, his irritation evident. Normally this would have just made Stiles amused with a subordinate, or had caused mild irritation, but it now made him angry. He breathed out harshly through his nose.

“Is patience something you lack?” Derek looked at him, narrowed eyes and red rising up the back of his neck. Stiles wondered whether or not it had to do with his rebuffing Derek’s coffee or attempts at conversation beyond the english reading. “Nevermind. Tell her thanks, but no thanks.” Stiles turned back to his reading, his dismissal evident. A hand splayed out on his book, making him look up. He let his eyes flash, just for a moment, letting his anger shine through. “I said no.” Derek scowled at him. 

“My mother insisted.” Stiles looked at him, eyes narrowed and was ready to bite back when a sharp pain lanced through his brain. He winced, grabbing his temple. Another one, even sharper, went through him again. He grunted in pain, nausea rolling through him as the pain grew ever more present. He moved to stand, grabbing his stomach, keeling over. Immediately strong, calloused hands were on his shoulders. “Stiles,” breathed out Derek, his voice worried. Stiles shook off his hands, trying to stand, before his knees buckled. Jackson leaped forward, hoisting Stiles up bridal style. Stiles grunted, his face screwed up in pain.

“What’s...what’s going on?” His voice was weak, and he felt his body break out into a cold sweat. His breathing was becoming rapid, his heart rate increasing. He felt his stomach lurch, bile rising in his throat. “Jackson...emergency...have Roscoe…” Stiles couldn’t help himself. The pain was growing. He’d never felt like this before, the lancing pains or the extreme nausea. His skin was crawling, the cold sweat making him feel like his clothes were sticking to him. He couldn’t help himself. He forced himself to lean away from Jackson and promptly emptied the contents of his stomach. **_‘Guess I’ll owe him a new pair of shoes.’_ **He coughed and dry heaved, Jackson standing resolute. He then moved with purpose. 

**_‘No, stop moving.’_ ** Stiles' mind raced with fear. He was completely unsure as to what was happening, afraid of the possibilities. **_‘Did someone make it through our defense perimeters to Earth? To poison me? That’s not possible…_ ** ’ Stiles was aware of noise around him, the sound of more and more people, hands feeling his forehead. **_‘Stop touching me, please.’_ **He wanted to bat them away, to roar in displeasure and let his eyes and fangs warn anyone off. He opened his eyes, aware of the ground moving beneath him, he saw concrete and multiple pairs of feet. He could hear a cacophony of noise, multiple voices. Then he heard harsh words and whispers. 

“You are not coming with us.” It was Aidan.

“The hell I’m not. He’s sick and -” The gravelly voice was shut down by a female voice threatening his balls. 

**_‘No, keep voice talking...it’s nice…’_ **Stiles' eyes were hazy, but he turned his head. A group of people came into focus. Aidan and Lydia were standing in front of him, Stiles' head in Ethan’s lap. He was in his car, Jackson sitting behind the steering wheel. Stiles remembered his vomiting and hissed softly. “Jackson...better not be wearing your pukey shoes…” He began coughing violently. Ethan’s hand began patting his back hard and rubbing circles. The argument stopped, the three turning in concern. 

“We need to get him out of here,” someone practically yelled. Stiles winced, weakly bringing a hand up to his temple. Aidan turned to Derek. 

“He’s sick. He needs medical attention. This pointless argument isn’t helping anyone, least of all him.” He ended in a yell. Derek was breathing harshly, barely suppressed rage crawling beneath his skin. Corey pushed them apart, eyes shining with tears. 

“Enough! We need to go, especially before someone sees us! Derek, just….go...he’ll be fine. We’re his friends.” Corey climbed into the car, putting Stiles' legs over his lap, staring at his friend's gaunt face. Stiles stared at him, half awake. He managed to reach out and give Corey a weak pat on the arm. A lance of pain threw him into a coughing fit. Lydia sat in the front seat, no longer caring about the argument. 

“Drive.”

Derek stood there, his face one of pain, his eyebrows knitted together and his mouth set in a grim line. Nobody saw him wipe his eyes as the car sped off.


	2. Idle Minds are Anxiety's Playthings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please Review!
> 
> Below is the link for the Ravensholme board on Pinterest. I encourage you to peruse and enjoy. (The two pins that inspired Stiles’ Halloween costume are side by side on Stiles’ personal board 😜)
> 
> I’ll be updating and playing with the board all the time, so feel free to check in whenever and you may see new things. Just copy and paste the link into your browser!
> 
> https://www.pinterest.com/Qnoillimrev/ravensholme/
> 
> ____________________________________________________

Stiles was feverish, his body spasming. He coughed and forced them to pull over a few times, Ethan helping him get his head out far enough so he could vomit. Stiles groaned, wiping his mouth, wishing it wasn’t so dry. **_‘What is happening to me…’_ **

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - Stiles, focus on my voice._ **

**_Stiles - Roscoe...what’s wrong? Have you...run a...a scan?_ **

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - Don’t worry about that now, just focus on staying awake, staying alert. I’m here._ **

**_Stiles - Roscoe...how did I get so weak? How could I have? I’m -_ **

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - Stiles, this is NOT your fault, do you hear me? Don’t worry about any of that right now, just focus on staying awake._ **

**_Stiles - How could I? My mother...she’d be so...ashamed…_ **

Despite Roscoe’s pleas Stiles blacked out, his body shaking, sweating right through his clothes. Ethan and Corey tried to wake him. Jackson merely drove faster. Corey looked up, tears shining in his eyes. “Where are we taking him,” he asked as they passed Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. Jackson and Lydia glanced at one another. Lydia cleared her throat.

“Corey…”

“None of you are human, you can do magic, possess weird alien technology, and Stiles is your leader. Got it. Now, where are we taking him!?” Ethan, Lydia, and Jackson’s eyes went wide. Jackson kept driving while Lydia and Ethan looked at Corey. He huffed. “Before Stiles I had very few, if any, friends. Being an outcast makes you observant. Where are we going?” 

Lydia turned to Jackson, raising an eyebrow. “We’re headed to the Preserve, to Hale House.” 

**______________________________**

Despite Corey’s incessant questions, particularly why they were headed to the Hale family’s home, the three members of Phoenix Squadron were quiet. He finally accepted it was doubtful they’d answer. He looked out into the forest. “I guess Aidan is running through there?” Ethan glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. He slowly nodded.

“He’s the fastest among us, except for Stiles, he’ll get there at the same time.” They soon turned into a long driveway and before long came upon a beautiful house with a wrap around porch. They bound out of the car, Aidan appearing almost at the same time as they got out, his breathing only slightly more rapid, as if he’d gone for a jog or had run up a hill. He stared at Corey, his head cocking. 

“He knows.” Aidan nodded at Lydia before going over to look at Stiles, nestled in Ethan’s arms. He looked at Jackson, raising an eyebrow. The blue eyed boy huffed.

“Stiles would’ve been pissed if I drove in puke covered pants and shoes. I ditched them.” He turned and walked, barefoot and brief clad bubble butt bouncing, up the drive. The others followed. The doors to the house flew open. Talia Hale rushed forward, charter sendings in black and red maids outfits following her, their opaque hands grabbing Stiles. Ethan growled at them. 

“Stand down Ethan, let them do their job.” Talia’s voice was firm, but soft. The lycan reluctantly released Stiles into their arms. Talia turned to them. “Medical, immediately.” She looked at the group and held up a hand, stopping them from following. They began to protest. “Shut it,” her eyes flashed red. They stopped cold. She then pointed at Corey and growled. “Explain to me why you’ve breached all of our security protocols?”

**______________________________**

An hour later found the five of them around the main conference table, deep in the bowels of Hale House’s covert facility, sixty feet beneath the surface. It was a beautiful table, carved of tamarisk wood, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. However the middle of the table was overtaken by a massive holo interface, reforming its surface and lighting up displays. Currently, Phoenix Squadron and Corey were standing against the wall, only Lydia sitting at the table. Talia Hale sat at the head, her expression grim. On the opposite end was Peter Hale, recently delivered by transport ship, his fingers laced together, staring dead eyed at the display. He flicked his gaze over to Dax. “Say that again.”

Dax pressed her tablet, the holo redoubt of Stiles appearing in midair. “He’s had a build up of synthetic toxins. Primarily lithium and lexorin, both which explain his neurolytic damage and the cerebral pressure. As for his weakness, fever, nausea…” She trailed off, shrugging. Peter nodded. He turned to Lydia. 

“He hasn’t been eating, Captain Martin?” Lydia nodded. She was all business. She typed something into her tablet, and a chart appeared on everyone’s displays. It showed Stiles nutritional factors and a full panel of basic nutritional factors, all of which were currently dangerously low.

“Stiles has shown increasingly low appetite and furthermore an increase in blood pressure, mass reduction, dehydration…” She trailed off, shaking her head. Peter nodded, turning to Talia and raising an eyebrow. Talia spoke out loud.

“What about ingestion of life forces?” She looked at the twins and Jackson, who stepped forward, bowing his head.

“No Commander Hale, Stiles has neither had sexual relations with either Ethan nor myself in some time, despite our overtures. He has also not consumed our blood, any of ours,” he gestured at his squad mates, “despite repeated offers.” Talia’s face darkened.

“Roscoe, have all data logs in regard to Stiles modules and implants sent to the medical team on the ground.” She began to speak again but was cut off.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I cannot do that.” Peter’s nostrils flared.

“And why not,” his voice was cold steel. 

“The Young Masters internal bio-scans are only approved for reading by the Triumvirate.” Peter opened his mouth, ready to snarl back, when Talia held up a hand. She gave her brother a severe look, forcing him to huff and look off, subdued for the moment. 

“I understand, Roscoe. I will request access when the Chief Executive arrives.” Everyone’s eyes widened, Jackson’s mouth hung open, his face pale. Corey, confused, turned to Ethan and whispered. 

“Why is everyone upset? Who’s the Chief Executive?” He was stopped when he heard a throat clear. Corey went red when he saw everyone looking at him, though Talia was smiling. 

“Mr. Bryant, you are not familiar with Ravensholme’s structure. I’m sure Lydia can explain it afterwards, no more interruptions please. But yes,” she said, turning back to everyone, “The Lady Amelia will be here tomorrow. So, I will adjourn this meeting now to prepare for her arrival. Dax, I know your expertise is in other areas, but you’re leading the medical team until she arrives with hers.” Dax nodded. She wouldn’t have left Stiles' side anyways. “Peter, anything else?” Peter tapped his chin with a clawed finger. He then slowly turned to Corey.

“If you, human, breathe so much as anything about us...I will rip your throat out,” he smiled, showing off razor sharp fangs, “with my teeth.” Corey gulped nervously. Talia moved, merely a blur, almost instantly appearing next to Peter, and knocked him upside the head. “Joking!” He held up his hands, smirking. “Joking.” He then looked at Corey and flashed red eyes. Clearly he wasn’t. The group dispersed, leaving through the door into the myriad of corridors. Aidan slung an arm around Corey and pulled him off down a hallway. It was sleek, banners intermittently hung, Lydia walked ahead of them all, typing away on her phone and looking at the tablet. She was in her official dress uniform while the four of the boys were in sweats. Their clothes had been taken to be decontaminated and they’d all been forced into decon showers. “In case a foreign agent caused all of this,” Lydia had explained.

“Where are we going,’ Corey asked in a small voice. They turned down another corridor. 

“Crew quarters, you’re bunking with us.” Jackson rubbed his stomach, gurgling sounds evident. Ethan laughed.

“We need to eat.” Lydia opened a door, Corey still not getting over the fact that they slid open, like in a sci-fi movie. Their quarters were built straight into the bedrock, the walls smoothed and a mottled green, grey, and brown. Edison light bulbs gave off ambient lighting and a massive viewscreen gave a live image of the preserve, almost giving their brains the belief that they were looking outside. Corey couldn’t stop staring. A small set of stairs led up into a galley, where Jackson and Ethan began preparing a meal. Lydia sat down at a small table, typing away furiously. Nobody seemed to want to speak, a silent and somber air overtaking the room. Finally, Aidan spoke. 

“We failed him.” Everyone stopped what they were doing. Jackson inspected his knife, wet with the juice of cucumbers and ginger. It was from a set Stiles had gotten him for his birthday, when he discovered the joy of domestic bliss he felt when cooking with Ethan. He turned to him, the man he loved, and felt his eyes get wet. Ethan didn’t even look, he reached out and pulled Jackson against his side. Lydia merely stared at her tablet, white knuckling the device. Corey grew quiet, somber, and was surprised when Aidan pulled him into his lap, the muscular man nuzzling his neck and huffing. Finally, Lydia spoke up. 

“He’s not gone yet. We will find out how this happened and ensure it never happens again.” She stood, eyes flashing metallic green. Her voice echoed and hummed with power. “Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?”

Before they could respond, the door chimed, and opened. Corey squeaked as Aidan stood, then bowed on one knee, Ethan, Jackson, and Lydia doing the same. A woman in a floor length pearl silk gown stood in the doorway. Her skin was pale, almost snow white, but her eyes were ice blue with pupils in the shape of an eight-pointed star. She wore a white fur cloak and a choker of diamond and sapphire that covered her entire neck. She stepped into the room. Corey noticed her ink black hair was held back and twisted into an elegant knot, secured with a bone comb. She settled her eyes on him. He yelped, Lydia yanking him down to the ground. He caught the woman smirk, unsettling the ice set of her face. 

“Rise.” Corey shivered. Her voice reminded him of the time he had cut his hand on a piece of glass from a frozen beer bottle. They all stood, bowing their heads. “At ease.” That barely seemed to have an effect on the boys who still stood, ramrod straight. Lydia walked forward.

“Lady Amelia, welcome to Beacon Hills.” 

**_‘Ah, so this is Amelia.’_ **Corey looked at her, now noticing the ears that tapered into points, and the fangs that peaked slightly behind her lips. He was shocked when she closed her eyes and reopened them. They had turned yellow, hawk like. 

“Thank you, Captain Martin.” She walked over to the table and sat. Lydia snapped at Jackson and Ethan, both racing up the steps and back into the galley. Soon the air filled with the smells of their cooking while Aidan prepared drinks. Lydia sat across from the Chief Executive, she waved Corey over. 

“Your Excellency, may I introduce Corey Bryant, Stiles' close personal friend. His first friend in Beacon Hills as a matter of fact. Corey, this,” she waved her hand over to Amelia, “is Her Excellency the Lady Amelia, Chief Executive of Ravensholme, Chair of the Triumvirate, and the Grand Elder of the Methuselah on Earth.” Amelia raised a single eyebrow at Corey, her eyes appearing even brighter close up, framed by the smokey eye makeup. She finally extended her hand, smiling a toothy grin. 

“Mr. Bryant.” Lydia elbowed him. He leaned forward, shaking her hand. It was like dipping his arm into a bucket of ice water. 

“Ma’am.” She smiled wider, letting go of his hand and turning to Lydia. 

“Manners. Always good to have manners.” Lydia nodded, yanking Corey down. Aidan appeared, three cocktails in his hands. Corey took a sip, surprised Aidan was letting him drink. It was good, bubbly and lemony with a slight flowery taste. It had a slight bite as it went down his throat. 

“Prosecco, St. Germain, Lemon Bitters, and a dash of Hibiscus, My Lady.” Amelia nodded at him, smiling. They drank in silence, for a while, Aidan joining them with a heady, woodsie cocktail of his own in a whiskey tumblr. Finally, Amelia spoke up. “You have questions, Mr. Bryant?” Corey stared at her wide eyed, before turning to Lydia, who nodded encouragingly. 

“Methuselah,” he squeaked out. Amelia smiled, showing her fangs. 

“Our name for the highborne vampires, those who were born this way, versus vampyr, those who have been turned by the bite.” He nodded, understanding now. “My son, his mate, and their dear friend are the three elders underneath me. I reign as Grand Elder, but they handle the day to day runnings of our covens.” She turned to Lydia. 

“He’s stable now. He’s been given a dreamless sleep potion and blood transfusions. The dialysis is a success, so far. His body is being purged of most of the toxins.” Everyone let out massive sighs of relief, nobody saying anything when they heard Jackson hiccup silently while crying. 

An hour or so later, after they’d enjoyed a meal, Lydia spoke up. “We had heard you wouldn’t be here till tomorrow.” Amelia nodded. 

“I asked Talia to tell everyone that. I arrived the moment I could, coming by orb of translocation, but felt it best to stay silent until I was ready to speak with leadership and Stiles doctors. Everyone would be too tense if they knew I was here now.” She stood as the door chimed. “Speaking of Talia.” The door opened and the commander entered. She regarded Phoenix Squadron and Corey. 

She wore a navy suit, completely different from her Ravensholme uniform. “By any chance did someone neglect to tell me my son was present when Stiles got sick?” They all stared at her, blank faced, Amelia merely sighing before taking out a cigarillo and lighting it with the tip of her finger. 

Lydia tipped her head back, eyes closing. “Fuck.”

**______________________________**

Derek Hale sat on his bed, his head in his hands. **_‘Please, god, let him be okay.’_ **Derek was beating himself up, wondering what was happening. He couldn’t imagine what was wrong with Stiles, but the look of him...he was pale, red eyed, vomiting, and sweating. He’d look so small when lifted in Jackson’s arms, and he and Jackson were relatively the same size. After watching them all peel away in the car, he had turned to Aidan. The man ignored him, he walked over to Lydia’s escalade and got in. Little did Derek know, as Aidan peeled out of the parking lot, Aidan would be leaving the car by the side of the road before running through the woods. He stood there, debating for fifteen minutes, before making a decision.

Derek walked briskly back into the school, knowing where to go. He found Scott and Isaac in their study hall, beckoning them to come out. They both walked into the hall, cocking their heads. **_‘What is with the dumb puppy look and these two.’_ **He scowled. “Stiles is sick, really fucking sick.” He explained what had occured in the library, not letting them know he’d been there to give Stiles a dinner invite. “His friends just took him to the…” Derek trailed off, not knowing where they were taking him. “I think they were taking him to the hospital.” Isaac looked worried, but turned to Scott. He just shrugged, looking bored.

“Derek, who cares. Not our problem.” He smirked, as if that settled it. Derek growled. 

“What the fuck do you mean who cares, he’s sick and needs medical assistance. Where is your sense of family loyalty!?” Derek’s voice had risen, growling. Scott looked at him, unclear as to why Derek was upset. 

“Dude, he’s not my family.” Isaac stared at Scott, but slowly shook his head. 

“Scott...he’s dad’s son. You may not think of him that way, but -” He was cut off. 

“Shut the fuck up Isaac! He’s not dad’s son. He doesn’t even want to be here. Who knows. Maybe we’ll get lucky and we’ll be rid of him for good.” Isaac gasped, but Derek saw red. He lunged forward and smashed his fist, as hard as he could, against Scott’s face. His co-captain howled in pain, falling to the floor, blood spurting from behind his fingers, clutching his now very broken nose. “What the fuck is wrong with you,” Scott lunged for Derek, but he was prepared. He dodged Scott, and brought his knee up into the boy's stomach, hard. Scott fell, groaning, clutching his stomach. Derek made to go after him, but by now a crowd had gathered, the noise causing students to come out from the classrooms. 

Coach Finstock grabbed Derek, as Adrian Harris helped Scott to his feet, stopping him from going after Derek. There were jeers and yells. Soon, both boys found themselves with Isaac in the Principal’s office, the school nurse looking over Scott. She turned to the man, who instead of being jovial and fatherly to the three boys was looking disappointed. 

“Definitely broken, plus his ribs are probably bruised.” Derek felt a deep sense of satisfaction. He found himself face to face with Principal Argent, who stared at him.

“Derek, my boy, why would you attack your good friend and co-captain? I expect better of both of you. What exactly happened here? This is so unlike you both.” Derek looked at him in disbelief, eyes dark and scowling. Before Derek could speak, it was Isaac who spoke up.

“Scott made some very unkind comments about Stiles. Derek came to inform us Stiles had become sick and his friends were taking him to the hospital. Scott dismissed it as not our problem and...Derek attacked him because of what he said.” Isaac’s voice had become small, tiny. He curled into himself, looking away. Principal Argent seemed unsure what to do with the information. He turned to Scott. 

“Is this true?” Scott looked up, a look of hurt appearing. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong! Stiles is a ...and if he’s sick and wants to skip school to go to the doctor, why should I care? Derek attacked me for no reason! He broke my nose!” The Principal held up his hand, stopping Derek from unleashing a verbal torrent at Scott. Derek glared at Scott with open loathing. **_‘How could I ever call this guy a friend!? What a sorry, sanctimonious piece of -’_ **He was stopped from continuing his four letter word internal diatribe by Principal Argent who was, apparently, calling their parents. He started with Derek’s mother. He gave a perfunctory account, stating that apparently Stiles had taken ill and Derek took exception to Scott’s comments on the matter. He hung up, informing Derek that Talia Hale would be arriving in fourty or so minutes. 

He dialed again, getting Mrs. McCall, who quickly assured him that she and Noah would be at the school asap, but also imploring him to try and locate Stiles, as he hadn’t checked in to the hospital. Twenty minutes later, Sheriff Stilinski and Melissa stormed into the office.

“Where is my son, Gerard!? What kind of school do we have where our students can just walk off, six of them no less! Where is -” He was stopped by Melissa placing a hand on his arm, shushing him, before she sat down in between her two sons, one looking on the verge of tears, the other with a crooked nose and sulking. Noah looked at Scott, his eyes growing worried, before turning a flinty stare on Derek. “You have a lot of nerves, Hale, for attacking my son.” Before Derek could retort, a sharp voice cut through the air.

“And **you** have a lot of nerves, Noah, for thinking I’ll let you speak that way to **my** son.” Talia Hale strutted in. She wore a navy suit with a cream silk blouse underneath. A white gold chain link collar was around her neck, and she carried a black briefcase that matched her heels. She stared at Noah, her raven locks billowing around her face like a gathering stormcloud. Principal Argent cleared his throat.

“As amusing as a showdown between two titans of Beacon Hills society would be, I’d prefer that the city’s primary landowner and businesswoman and the county’s chief law enforcement officer not come to blows in my office. Talia, Noah, please,” he gestured at the chairs around the conference table. The two sat, not taking their glares off from one another. Gerard sat at the head of the table and looked around. He called out the door, Mr. Finstock and Mr. Harris entering, along with his assistant, who was apparently taking minutes. They closed the door. “Now, why don’t we get to the meat of the matter. Mr. Hale, you said Stiles is ill and his friends took him off school grounds, without permission I might add, to go to the doctors?” 

Derek looked at his mother. She raised an eyebrow. “Sit up and tell the truth Derek. Always tell the truth.” Her voice was like steel, and injected him with both a sense of calm and fear. He immediately straightened up, but white knuckled the arm rests of the chair as he relayed how Talia had cornered him that morning and asked him to relay her dinner invitation to Stiles, as she’d been Claudia’s close friend, of how he’d relayed the invitation and how Stiles had rejected it, before collapsing. He told them how Jackson and Corey had gathered their friends, loaded Stiles into his car, and taken off, Aidan taking Lydia’s. 

“I had no idea where they were going, but assumed the hospital. So I went to go tell Scott and Isaac.” Principal Argent nodded. He looked at Mrs. McCall.

“Melissa, did Stiles arrive at the hospital?” The woman shook her head no, looking at John, worried.

“My deputies are out looking for him right now, him and his so called friends who apparently have no sense to take someone who is sick to a doctor.” The Sheriff looked pale, but red splotches on his leathered skin made it clear he was angry. Derek noticed his mother smirk ever so slightly, before she schooled her face into an impassive slate. 

“Derek, what happened after you told Scott and Isaac what had happened.” Derek practically reared up. 

“Scott said that it didn’t matter and that it wasn’t his problem. Then Isaac said it wasn’t right that he said that and Scott said,” Derek broke off, thinking about how Stiles had been hurt so much by people who didn’t know him. He felt his mom put a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“Tell them Derek,” her voice was commanding, but soft and motherly. 

“He said maybe you’d all get lucky and that Stiles would be sick enough to die.” It was as if a bomb went off. Melissa turned to Scott, outraged, while Scott loudly protested he didn’t, and the Sheriff, to Derek’s shock, defended Scott saying he’d been raised better and wouldn’t be so horrible. Finally, in the midst of the fighting, a voice piped up. 

**“SHOVE IT!”** Everyone winced as Coach Finstock bellowed. Principal Argent turned to him, his beady eyes inspecting him. Finstock ignored him, and pointed at Isaac.

“Lahey! What’d you say?” All eyes turned to Isaac, who seemed to curl in on himself, before speaking up. He stuttered until Finstock grumbled. “Speak English!”

“It’s...tr...true. What Derek is saying, it’s true. Scott said those things. And...and he’s been saying worse.” You could hear a pin drop, the air having been sucked out of the room. Slowly, Argent turned to the teachers. 

“Gentlemen, please leave us.” They did, quickly, though not before Finstock walked over and knocked Scott upside the head. Nobody stopped him. Gerard turned back, looking at the tall, lithe teen. “Isaac, please repeat what you just said.” Argent looked like he’d swallowed a lemon.

Isaac took a deep breath before turning to Melissa and Noah. “Scott said what Derek said he said. And...during study hall just now... he said that he knew Stiles' mom had gotten sick, that Stiles was a sick freak too, and that maybe...maybe he had something like AIDS…cause Scott says he’s...” He trailed off. Melissa was the first to speak. 

“Scott Rafael McCall...you have no idea how much trouble you are in.” He whipped his head around, ready to protest, but it died in his throat. His mother stared right at him, no love in her eyes, nothing but mortification and disgust. “I don’t believe in physical violence, Scott. But no wonder Derek hit you.” She then turned to Noah. “And you!” He looked up from where his gaze was boring into the wood. “This. Is. All. Your. Fault.” She jabbed him in the chest, punctuating her anger. Before he could say anything, Melissa stood. “I expect Scott to be punished, my guess is this is only the tip of the fucking iceberg of shit like this. Now,” she gathered her things, “I’m going to go check the local doctors offices and clinics, see if Stiles has gone there. He clearly needs medical attention.” Before she could leave, Talia spoke up.

“There’s no need. Stiles is at Hale House.” Everyone looked at her, Derek’s mouth open. 

“What,” breathed out Noah. Talia looked at him, cocking an eyebrow. 

“His friends brought him directly to me. They know that Claudia and I were close. Stiles is resting at my home.” She turned to Melissa. “If he’s feeling up to it you may visit, but for now let's all sit down. I have a few questions that need answering.” Before Melissa sat, Noah exploded.

“My son is at your house and you don’t think to call me!?” Talia looked down her nose at him, as if he were something small. 

“Stiles is running a 102 degree fever, he’s malnourished, sleep deprived, and his blood pressure is through the goddamn roof. When was the last time you had an actual conversation with him, Noah? I saw you out with Scott and Isaac not three days ago, having milkshakes and burgers. Did you think to invite Stiles? You know him, right? Your son?” Noah stopped, but dropped his gaze, unable to stare at the accusing gaze. “I didn’t think to inform you, because I have serious concerns about whether or not this arrangement should be continued. And I’ve run my concerns up the chain.” Noah immediately tensed.

“You what,” he growled. To everyone’s confusion, Talia switched over from English to a language none of them could understand. However, Noah could. It was called Thalassian...it was the first offworld language he’d heard Claudia speak.

“I’ve informed the Triumvirate of today’s developments. Okoye is speeding to Beacon Hills and Charon’s on a plane. Amelia is already here,” she spread her hands. Nobody had any clue what was going on, what Talia was even talking about, but it seemed Talia had dropped a bomb on Noah, the man having gone paler at each name she rounded off. “I imagine they will be pulling in Claudia’s remaining family.” He merely stared at her. She slowly shook her head, almost like she couldn’t imagine him sitting across from her. “When,” she choked out, her voice filled with emotion, “when Claudia died, struck down before her time, we all **swore** to watch over her son. Till he was **ready** . When she decided that you of all people would care for him, we **begged** her to reconsider. You have **never** taken an interest in Stiles, not once. You clothed yourself in this perfect life, you never took an interest. She offered…” Talia trailed off. Derek looked at her, feeling his heart ache for his mother. He reached out and awkwardly patted her arm. She turned to him, smiling, but eyes filled with tears. She took a deep breath, whipped her eyes, and looked at Noah, leveling a thunderous gaze. She returned to speaking English.

“I imagine this arrangement will be re-evaluated. It’d be best if you didn’t contest the change.” She stood, turning to Principal Argent. “You turn a blind eye to bullying and abuse in this school, Gerard. If you attempt to punish Derek for his actions I swear I will level every resource I have and bring it down on your fucking head. Do you read me,” she snarled. The man looked ready to argue but Talia leaned down.

“Mine are bigger.” She then motioned for Derek to get up. She stopped, turning to Melissa, looking her up and down, before speaking in a neutral tone. “You’ve shown Stiles great kindness. I will contact you with Stiles' condition and update you as to when you, just you,” she glanced at Noah, who looked lost, Scott who looked like he was unsure what was happening, and Isaac who looked ready to cry, “can come visit.” Melissa nodded slowly. “Come, Derek.” Talia strutted out of the school. Laura and Cora stood by the doors, Cora holding Derek’s backpack. They were surprised to see their mother, having been pulled out of class. “We’re going home, let’s go.” 

The Hale siblings were surprised that they were brought home in armored SUVs, their mother riding with them in the back, spending the time texting on her phone. “Your Uncle is visiting.” They all perked up at that. Derek finally spoke.

“Stiles...Stiles is at the house.” Talia paused her texting, looking up and over her shoulder at Derek, seated next to Laura. His older sister’s brows furrowed, very much like her brother and mother. 

“Stiles Stilinski, what’s he doing at our house.” Talia glanced at her.

“He’s sick. And watch that tone Laura. His mother was my closest friend. I have a great deal of affection for her child.” Laura recoiled, stung. Talia looked back to Derek, nodding. “He’s at the house, but he’s not ready to be seen by anyone.” She turned back to her phone, discussion over.

That was how Derek found himself sitting on his bed, having been told that Stiles was on the first floor, and apparently asleep. Two burly bodyguards stood outside the twin doors into the solarium. Cora and Laura had started asking questions. The driveway and land surrounding the Hale House was full of cars, including a massive 18-wheeler rig. Yet the house seemed empty. Derek looked up at the sound of someone knocking on his door frame. He jumped up. “Corey,” he breathed out. 

The young boy gave him a watery smile. He didn’t know what to do, so he just waved him in. Corey sat at his desk, Derek on his bed, the silence growing awkward. Finally, he spoke up. “How’s...how is he?” Corey looked at him and finally shrugged. 

“He’s asleep, resting. He’s...pretty sick.” Derek nodded, remembering what Stiles looked like. 

“Yeah...sounds like it.” Before they could continue talking, Cora wandered in. 

“Hey Corey, mom said you were here.” The boy looked up, surprised, before giving a small smile to Cora.

“Hey, yeah, your family has been really nice.” Cora nodded, before turning to Derek. 

“Mom wants you downstairs. Corey,” she barked, the boy stumbling out of the desk chair, “we have homework. Let’s go.” Despite the boy's protests, Cora, much to Derek’s amusement, frogmarched him away and down the hall to her room. Derek slowly stood, stretching, before noticing his knuckles were bruised and covered in dried blood. He washed them off and changed into a black tee and sweats, before going downstairs. He was shocked to find the living room packed...and different. It was larger somehow, the furniture rearranged, a fire roaring. Servants walked around with drinks and small bites. Individuals flitted about in various uniforms and forms of dress, but they all seemed to have some form of raven motif, its wings flaring out and flickering as if on fire. His Uncle Peter and his mother stood, conversing with a woman in a fur cape and glittering black lace gown. The air seemed somber, like they had gathered for a wake or memorial.

“Derek,” he felt a soft hand wrap his bicep, and Lydia Martin was steering him over to the loveseat, now positioned vertically to the left of three high backed armchairs that sat with their backs to the fireplace. She wore some sort of uniform of, black, white, and red. Jackson and the twins were in uniform as well. Much to his surprise, Ethan and Aidan greeted him with soft smiles. 

Even Jackson nodded to him with a terse, “Hale.” Derek was placed next to Lydia, but he felt uncomfortable, noticing the formality of his unexpected companions. 

“Don’t worry, you’re fine.” He turned, Lydia was inspecting him. “You’re concerned about your dress. Don’t worry. You'd had no idea. Plenty of people are in various forms of dress or undress.” The light outside was bright, the sun hanging high in the sky. A soft chime sounded, like a notice that the meeting had begun. Derek finally realized there were over thirty people in the room. The woman in the gown stood before the middle of the three chairs. Two people, both the color of oiled ebony, came into the room, people bowing their heads. One was a woman in armor, wielding a spear, her shaved head only marked with a single tattoo on its side. The other individual was a male, also with a bald head, in gold rimmed glasses and an impeccable three piece suit. They each took one of the other armchairs. Derek saw his mother and Peter sit next to each other on the couch across from where he sat. 

“Well,’ said the woman in the fur coat, “let us begin.” She turned and nodded at the bald man to her right. His voice trilled with an accent Derek couldn’t place.

“We are faced with a crisis. Our young master, Stiles, has fallen into an unnatural slumber. This is now believed to be beyond the medical induced sleep he was put into to assist with his recovery. We believe he has entered into a deep, nightmarish sleep and that his spirit is wandering.” The room erupted with concerned whispers and sounds. Derek scowled. 

**_Derek - ‘What the actual fuck is he talking about? Stiles' spirit is wandering?’_ **

**_Lydia - ‘We’ll explain later. Pay attention.’_ **

Derek’s eyes widened and he turned to Lydia. She didn’t look at him but put a finger to her plump, red lips.

**_Lydia - ‘Later, Muscles McGee.’_ **

Derek slowly turned back to the individuals addressing everyone, gulping. He was unsure as to what to do. The woman with the spear began explaining that security would be tightened and that things called Spell Breakers would be called in. She then addressed his...Uncle?

“Mr. Hale, I expect the Sunwreavers are prepared?” Peter nodded.

“Ready and waiting, General Okoye. I have assigned both N’Gorso and Affa to Stiles' body, while Penrenuet and Rekhyt will assist the search. Unfortunately, the trail is...weak.” He shrugged. The woman nodded, Derek confused more than ever. The woman in the fur coat spoke up. 

“This is a crisis, I will not deny it. The Triumvirate is therefore declaring this a code black emergency and restricting all knowledge of it to codeword clearance. To The Verse at large, Stiles is alive and well. If word gets out he’s incapacited we can expect to see coordinated strikes on all of Ravensholmes’ holdings, maybe even strikes on the Belt and the Inner Planets.” Everyone nodded, agreeing. She then turned to where Derek and Lydia sat, the twins and Jackson behind him. “Captain Martin, your report?” Lydia stood.

“Esteemed members of the Triumvirate, leaders of Ravensholme,” Lydia was formal, her voice clipped, “I believe I may have an idea as to where Stiles' spirit has gone.” She nodded for Lydia to continue. “This all began with the death of our beloved Sovereign, Claudia. Her death wracked Stiles to the core. Then, for her to leave him in the care of a man that Stiles believed never cared for him…I believe Stiles spirit is wandering, looking for his mother, as any lost young boy would, and the first place he’d go...would be her grave.” A woman in all black leather and a corset, knives tucked into her belt, and crossbow across her back stepped forward. “Captain Braeden,” Lydia acknowledged. 

“We have sent our best spellweavers and magicians to the grave of Her Excellency. We haven’t detected His Excellency’s presence.” She seemed almost apologetic when she said it, but Lydia smiled, like a cat that ate the canary. 

“Ah, yes, you’re correct Captain Braeden, but,” Lydia pressed a button on her tablet. Derek leaned back as a holographic display appeared in the middle of the room. It showed what looked like the interior of a temple, carved from red stone and then a map of...Beacon Hills. “Claudia was brilliant. She had two graves. One on the mortal plane,” she pointed to the temple, “on Mars.” She then pulled up and enlarged the map. “And one phased out, on a magical plane she herself created. A pocket dimension. Her physical human body lays in state on Mars, while her soul lies in state...right here in Beacon Hills.” The room erupted in noise, everyone crying out. Before the three officials could speak, which Derek had deduced were the Triumvirate his mother had mentioned, the crowd gasped and aqueaked as the front door opened, but grew silent and parted ways as two new individuals joined them. The Triumvirate stood, and bowed. Lydia pulled Derek up, bowing as well. He felt awkward, but bowed his head. The two men walked into the middle of the room, shaking hands, giving small smiles, and laughing at small greetings or words, before standing before Derek’s mom, uncle, and the Triumvirate. The bald man bowed.

“Sir,” he nodded to the man with slicked back grey and black hair, dressed in an elegant charcoal coat and black suit. “Mr. Reddington,” he nodded at the man in a fedora and sunglasses. Both of them nodded back.

“Charon,” they both nodded. The man in the fedora looked around. 

“I don’t see my darling nephew anywhere. My father and I want to see him.” His tone was jovial, but he removed his hat and sunglasses. His gaze was anything but kind. Derek shivered, finally knowing what “if looks could kill” meant. 

“Indeed,” said the other man, accepting a glass of whiskey from Peter. “I would very much like to see my grandson.” His voice was rich and deep, regal. Derek’s mom walked forward, bowing low, tucking one foot behind her. 

“Raymond, Winston. If you’ll please follow me.” She turned and opened the door to the solarium slightly, the men following her. The bald man turned to his two companions.

“I suspect that things...just got a lot worse.”

**______________________________**

The meeting was adjourned. Aidan wrapped an arm around Derek’s shoulders and leaned in. “We’ll explain everything, but we need food and booze. Let’s go.”

Derek found himself on his family’s enclosed deck off the side of the house. Instead of the usual table and chairs, it was filled with couches, pillows, and blankets. Corey sat on the ground, laying out food. He then stood, checking his phone, and turned a hopeful gaze on Aidan, who sighed. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay? Talia says she’s prepared for extended stays.” Corey shook his head.

“My...my parents wouldn’t like it.” Aidan sighed sadly before telling Corey to grab his things and he’d drive him home. Corey said his goodbyes, getting a tight hug from the group, nodded at Derek, and left. Lydia harrumphed.

“Once Stiles is better, Corey’s next. What the fuck is going on there?” Ethan and Jackson nodded. Derek watched with interest as Jackson sat down in Ethan’s lap, nuzzling the man. They both shed their uniform jackets. Lydia sat in a wicker chair, toeing off her heels. Derek looked at the spread. It was meditteranean, and a piping pot of tea was right in the middle along with a bottle of what looked like green wine. 

“Portuguese,” Lydia told him. She poured him a glass, before making a plate for herself. Derek followed her lead. They ate quietly before Jackson spoke. 

“Humans are far from alone in the Universe. We call it ‘The Verse’, actually.” Jackson projected a holographic image, showing the Milky Way Galaxy, multiple routes were highlighted, huge splotches of color, some overlapping, filled spaces. What he noticed though, was the areas and routes in red, the symbol of the raven he’d seen around, floating above them. Jackson pointed at those areas. “These are the planets, sections of space, stations, and trade routes controlled by Ravensholme, the faction that we, including your mother and Uncle, are members of.” Ethan then took over.

“Magic and Aliens? All quite real, all very dangerous. Stiles' family, namely his mother, have been focused on consolidating Ravensholme’s grip on these areas and expanding our spheres of influence. We face, as you can see,” he waved at all of the other factions represented, “considerable opposition. However, Ravensholme has one critical advantage.” Ethan flicked the projection over to a series of photos. Underneath each was a designation. Right under a photo of a human was “Species: Human.” Multiple species were represented. “We are democratic. We have buy-in from multiple species, races, creatures, sub-factions. Most factions don’t have multi-tiered, multilayered agendas. They are either religious factions, corporations, or just power hungry empires.” He then turned to Lydia. She looked at Derek. 

“Ravensholme believes in a specific philosophy, a philosophy developed by Claudia, after years of study. It combines various schools and notions and areas of belief, but the ultimate goal is one of balanced order. Multilevel democracy, with multiple levels of checks and balances. Freedom of speech, thought, commerce, and, most importantly, an informed populace. We believe in bettering ourselves and those around us, not exchanging one broken set of power structures for another. It’s a very...delicate thing to attempt. Especially in The Verse.” Jackson jumped in.

“Unfortunately, Ravensholme has come under great strain recently. Claudia passed away unexpectedly. She was injured...and never recovered.” They all seemed crestfallen, remembering the woman who had been like a mother.

“Even more unfortunate, there are organizations that do try and manage the unmanageable Verse.” Lydia drew up a chart, showing the logos of various organizations. Giant anagrams floated before Derek’s eyes; CHOAM, IGBC, CONCORD, but Lydia pointed at an anagram that expanded. It was called “The Mercantile and Security Assurance Directorate.” 

“M-SAD is an umbrella organization that sets rules regarding trade, development, even warfare. Claudia filed her will with them, making it binding. Her will,” she took a deep breath, “made it clear Stiles was to be released into the care of his father. Until he was eighteen.” Derek stood. His face was blank. He turned, ignoring their questions and calls, stomping along. He bound upstairs, knowing exactly where to find his mother. She was in her office, the doors ajar. Peter was sitting, reading a newspaper that was printed on what looked like parchment paper, lettering in different languages, the pictures moving. 

“Problem, nephew of mine?” Peter’s tone was sarcastic. The muscled teen looked to his mother, not phased to see her reading through various holographic projections. Flicking them about with deft precision. She glanced at him.

“Same question as your uncle,” she closed the windows, leaning back. She was still in her uniform whereas Peter had changed into blue jeans and a white tee. Derek took a deep breath, leveling a thunderous look at his mother. 

“Because of some bullshit law you have all let Stiles live under the same roof as people who despise him?” Derek was yelling at the end, breathing through his nose, his chest heaving. His mother merely stared at him, but Peter chuckled darkly. Derek turned towards him. He was ready to strike him for the smug smile on his Uncle’s face. Before he could say or do anything, Peter had him held up in the air, by the throat, with a single hand. His eyes flashed red. 

“Do not think for a second you could best me, nephew.” His voice had deepened to a guttural tone, his mouth all fangs. Suddenly, a gust of wind, as cold as the arctic, separated them. Derek fell to the floor, whereas Peter was knocked out of the room, the door shutting behind him. Derek looked up. His mother held a wand in her hand, the tip glowing like sunlight on ice. She was relaxed in her posture, but her eyes had also turned blood red. She lowered the wand, her eyes returning to normal, and her shoulders seemed to sag slightly. She waved for Derek to get up and sit down. He merely stared at her, mouth agape. His mother sighed heavily. 

“Derek, please. If you’re to be angry with me, please at least sit and explain yourself and then give me the courtesy of being able to respond.” Derek scowled, but slowly stood and lowered himself into one of the squishy leather armchairs that could easily make you fall asleep. Yet now he sat as stiff as a board, his mother observing him over the steeple of her fingers. “You’ve spoken with Phoenix Squadron then.” It was a statement, not a question. Derek cocked his head, scowling harder. “Stiles’ personal team, the one led by Lydia, Phoenix Squadron.” Derek slowly nodded his head, neck stiff and veins jumping. “Okay, now that I know, go ahead. Say your piece.”

“How could all of you do this to him!? Scott hates him! Isaac is too scared of his own past that he follows the leader and the rest of those fucking idiots at school follow along too! And Sheriff Stilinski does nothing! Nothing! He’s been hurting for so long that -” He was cut off by his mother, holding up her hand. He let out a harsh breath, wanting to yell at her, but was stopped by her stern gaze. She finally sighed and spread her hands.

“It is out of our control, Derek.” Before he could protest she pressed on. “It is absolutely out of our control. Claudia’s will was logged with M-SAD. If we had attempted to violate the terms of the will, they’d have sanctioned Ravensholme into the stone age.” The last part she practically growled. “Millions rely on our economic or military power for stability, protection, even basics such as clean water and air.” The way his mother spoke, emotion lacing her tone, Derek was forced to stop himself. He desperately wanted to argue, but held his tongue. 

“The Verse is a place of anarchy and decay. It is a vacuum devoid of life that will kill you in an instant.” His mother waved her head, a display of the Milky Way appearing above them. Ravensholme’s territory was highlighted. “The regions we control? We provide not just a government, but a sense of security, a sense of community. We violate our late leader’s will? Give M-SAD reason to sanction us and, subsequently, our enemies reason to violate us? We’d be condemning millions if not billions of lives.” She shut off the holographic projection and stared straight at him. “Now, I understand your anger, but I asked Phoenix Squadron to explain everything. Now go back and listen. I know our words and tone seem wooden, but there is a reason. This is bigger than you think. This is politics.” Talia returned to her work, the dismissal was clear.

**______________________________**

This was how Derek found himself on the deck, a few hours later. He seemed to have questioned himself out, except for his questions about Stiles that nobody could or would answer. Aidan had returned from taking Corey home, but hadn’t said a word. So they were surprised when he turned to all of them, whiskey swilling in his glass. “I think Corey is being abused.” They all stopped and turned to him. Before they could even speak, Talia walked out. She looked straight at Aidan. 

“Before we go down that road, which we should, clearly...Stiles family, they’re asking for all of you.” With a great clambering of limbs they all followed her, excited, but grew somber at Lydia’s harsh glare. Derek stepped through the doors of the solarium, somewhat surprised and not at the same time, when a great elevator appeared out of the floor, the Solarium devoid of its normal furniture and fixings. They stepped into it and descended into the earth. Derek watched with surprise as they stepped out into a massive corridor, various individuals moving about through the halls, going in and out of rooms. 

Derek looked at his mother. “Yes, my dear?”

“This has been under our house? The entire time?” His mother just smiled. Derek scowled. They turned the corner and stopped. On both sides of the hall were heavily armed guards. Talia ignored their pause and marched straight forward, handing an access card to one of them. The guard scanned it and then punched in a door code. The doors slid open into the private medical wing. Whereas the corridors had been carved from the bedrock and fitted with sterile, military features, these rooms were light and airy. The bedrock had been whitewashed and lacquered, and the fluted steel pillars were chromed. Alcoves held various alien plants that glew with bioluminescence and the furniture was in muted blues and greys, squishy and comfortable looking. 

It was still a medical facility though, with nurses and doctors moving to and fro, various automatons, droids, and sendings following with them. They approached a pair of plexiglass doors that swung open of their own accord. Phoenix Squadron ran into the room, surrounding the hospital bed. Derek stayed back. Stiles was laid on the bed, various tubes and wires covering him. Holographic readouts measured brain and heart activity, the constant drip of the IV, and the slow rise and fall of his chest made Derek physically hurt. Phoenix Squadron made to touch Stiles in some way, Lydia and Jackson each taking a hand, while Aidan and Ethan touched his legs. They all stood there, staring down, trying to hold back their tears. After a few moments of silence, a voice piped up from the corner. “If they had all been watching him from the beginning, none of this would be happening. Or us, he could’ve lived with us.” They all turned, Phoenix Squadron standing at attention, bowing. 

“At ease, children. We can drop formality here.” Winston took a sip of his brandy, a half eaten plate of fruit and cheese between him and Reddington. He motioned to his eldest son, “Raymond has been beguiling me with the tale of how you all lost the _Baloo_ , but how you got your revenge on,” he trailed off, looking at his son. 

“The Adjudicator, dad.”

“Ah, yes, that nasty piece of work. Before Johnathan and The Bowery King dismantled The High Table.” Talia stepped forward. 

“Speaking of. Will John be joining us? I’ve prepared rooms just in case.” Raymond chuckled darkly. 

“No, no, the youngest of us, our dear John, is staying with the Crawleys in Downton when he’s finished in Morocco. Were he to come here I doubt it’d end well for any of us.” He sat back, an enigmatic smile on his face. His eyes narrowed in on Derek and he pointed, “especially for your son, Commander.” Winston laughed.

“Yes, I doubt my youngest would be very happy with his nephew being lusted after by a subordinate’s child.” They both laughed, toasting to some joke that they’d seem to make to each other. “Children,” he waved to the expansive table and comfortable chairs, “have a drink. And relax.” He sipped his brandy. “For now.” 

Raymond stood and came up very close to Derek. He stared at him, shark eyed, before cocking his head at Stiles. “Go ahead. We won’t kill you for holding his hand.” He then walked over to a mini bar where Derek was surprised to find a tall, dark skinned man stepped out of the shadows. Silently, they began to make drinks. Derek found that he had to pee, and was shaking.

“Wow,” muttered Jackson, “he didn’t wet himself.” He sounded genuinely impressed.

**______________________________**

About two hours later Derek still sat in a chair at Stiles bedside. Yet he hadn’t picked up his hand, merely staring at the gaunt, grey skinned face of his… **_”Well he’s not my boyfriend…”_ ** Derek shook himself out of his reverie, unsure of what to say to himself, confused as to his feelings. He was attracted to Stiles, always had been, **_‘no denying that.’_ **They’d never even kissed, though they’d certainly engaged in some kinky activities. Derek’s cheeks went red, thinking about it. Had he had the training, he’d have seen the multitude of eyes on him as the scent of his arousal and carnal thoughts met the multitude of magical and augmented beings. 

“He reminds me of Johnathan when he first met Helen. Unsure, and horny. All the time.” Winston didn't even look up from his ledger, ticking off various figures with a fountain pen. An attendant walked in, bearing a letter on a tray that he presented to Talia. She slipped it open and turned to Winston and Raymond.

“Melissa McCall-Stilinksi is here unannounced, she’s come with the Sheriff. She says he insisted and that,” before she could say anything else Raymond stood, pulled out a gun, popped on his fedora and walked out the room. 

“Oh for the love of! Reddington, don’t be rash.” Winston sprung out of his seat, the tall black man following him.

“I’m just going to have a few words with Noah is all, you and Dembe can stay behind” Reddington called out cheerily as he stepped into the elevator, slipping on his sunglasses. Winston stopped and sighed. A door opened and Lady Amelia stepped out, raising an eyebrow at the older man. She stared for a moment before he smiled. 

“Yes, My Lady?” 

“Killing a sheriff is hard business to hide, even for us. I’m not siring any more progeny either. Please make sure I don’t have to explain something to someone.” 

**______________________________**

Outside on the steps of Hale House, a scene out of a soap opera was playing out. Noah Stilinski was bellowing at several guards to let him by. Melissa was trying to soothe him, while also holding her frustration in check. Everyone stopped shouting as the door opened and Raymond Reddington, Claudia’s elder brother, walked out, gun in hand, staring dead eyed at Noah. The sheriff immediately backed up, cursing himself that he hadn’t thought to bring his gun, while Melissa shrieked. 

“Hello Noah.” Raymond’s tone sent shivers down the spines of everyone assembled. “Won’t you introduce me to your lovely bride?” Noah breathed heavily, before grounding out.

“Melissa, this is Raymond Reddington, Claudia’s older brother. Reddington, my wife Melissa.”

“A pleasure Melissa, unfortunate we have to meet under such circumstances.” Reddington didn’t take his eyes off Noah as he spoke. “Though I imagine this situation was bound to happen eventually.” Noah glared.

“You never did want me around.” Reddington laughed, but there was no mirth in it.

“Oh no, dear boy, it was you who looked at us,” Reddington smiled, “and judged us because you thought we would judge you. You judged yourself before we ever did.” 

“Raymond, stop this, at once.” Winston bounded down the stairs. Reddington smiled. 

“Melissa, this is my father, Stiles’ grandfather, Winston, owner of The Continental Group.” Winston, ever the gentleman, bowed to Melissa. 

“I’m sorry we meet under such circumstances, now,” he turned to the showdown, “Raymond Reddington you will put the gun down at once. None of us need the extra trouble right now.” He glared hard, but Raymond didn’t budge. “Just, walk away.” Winston didn’t approach or touch his son, knowing the response was bound to get Noah shot, if not killed. Before anyone could say anything, a posh english accent rang through the air. 

“What on earth is going on here!? Really now! Have I fallen through a looking glass!?” A woman with curly red hair in a black coat with fur cuffs and collar was marching straight for all of them. 

“Lady Rosamund Painswick, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Quiet Raymond. And put the gun away. Now.” Much to everyone’s surprise, he did immediately as she said. “And really, while poor Stiles has fallen ill, you all decide to quarrel like common laborers gone to drink. Everyone, in the house, now,” she marched right past them, bumping Winston on the cheek in greeting. She waved behind her. Three antique Model Ts laden with luggage and servants pulled forward. Talia ordered the servants to unload the car. Rosamund marched up the steps, muttering to Winston in French, and walked straight into the dining room. As a servant removed her coat, she began to properly say hello, Lydia getting a tight hug and two kisses. Talia came in, ordering tea and sweets for everyone. “Mrs. McCall-Stilinski, come sit with me.”

Before long, they all sat in uncomfortable silence. Rosamund turned her smile on the assembled kids. “Why don’t you five run along, let the adults speak of uninteresting matters that you’d no interest in.” It was clear that the dismissal was an order, not a suggestion. They all left, and Rosamund turned to Talia. “Where are you on C&C?” 

“We’re as set up as we can be, though with as many dignitaries here now, I’d be lying if I didn’t say we can’t very well support all of you. Please know I don’t speak impertinently, just realistically. The Triumvirs are here, plus the family, the kids, my own family, now you…” She trailed off. Rosamund patted her hand. 

“I’m only here for a short while, I’ve spoken with Mr. Whittemore and there's an old victorian in need of some sprucing up along the coast. I’ll make a decent home of it, yet. It’ll serve as a good getaway, for all of us. I’ll be here till Monday and by then we will have a temporary space in Sacramento while we renovate.” Talia’s shoulders relaxed. “And I’ll be taking Raymond with me, he has a boat to catch Tuesday, Mogadishu I believe?” Raymond turned his dark gaze on her. She raised an elegant eyebrow. A short battle of the wills occurred before he deflated. 

“Yes, I suppose I do need to get on.” Winston let out a breath.

“I’ll be gone by Wednesday, but not far. I’ll be at The Continental in Los Angeles. We’re expanding.” Rosamund nodded. 

“Excellent, so there we have it. Only the children and the Triumvirs will remain. You can manage that, can’t you Talia?” The Hale matriarch nodded, feeling far more comfortable. “And with John tied up at Downton by Mama and my brother, we should be fine. No killing necessary.” She sipped her tea and turned to Melissa.

“Now, I think it’s time we all had a little chat about Stiles and his well being. Shall we?”

**______________________________**

Phoenix Squadron and Derek had retired to his room. He wasn’t surprised to find his bed made up and a tray of food. It seemed that the entire house was unnaturally clean and every wish was attended to. The twins looked around, curious as to who Derek was. The jock fell onto the bed, trying to storm the raging thoughts running through his head. “Here.” He opened one eye. Lydia held out a waterford crystal glass filled with some, “Arbor Gold. A fine white wine.” He sat up and took a sip, finding he enjoyed it immensely. Lydia handed out plates of dolma, telling him the grape leaves were from some city called Meereen where, “Claudia had cleaned it up.” The rice was pundi rice from a planet called Caladan. They quietly ate, before Jackson spoke up.

“What’s your intent with him?” Derek stopped and stared at the blue eyed teen. He stared straight at Derek. Everyone did. He stopped chewing and swallowed. He chugged his wine back. There wasn’t much, the glasses were small. He took a great big breath, but felt himself wanting to speak the truth. He felt a compulsion to speak.

“Stiles...was the talk of our town. Is. Sheriff Stilinksi is such a force here, that the one thing we were curious about was why when he had the so called perfect life...he had a son that nobody knew. That he didn’t know.” Derek inspected his hands and then rubbed the back of his neck. “Scott started speaking about the Sheriff, how he was unsure of what to do. How Stiles and him...never got along, how Claudia turned him against him.” Soft growls filled the room, Aidan and Ethan’s fangs showing. Lydia helped up a hand, stopping them. 

“Go on.”

“I’ve been judged my entire life in this town. I’ve never felt seen. I guess that when Scott started speaking more and more about how much he hated the idea of Stiles coming, hating him before he’d even met the guy...I grew more and more curious. So...I don’t know...” He didn’t notice the four Ravensholme agents look at each other, silently communicating. 

“Then why did you say what you said, at the Halloween Party?” Derek felt a compulsion come over him again, unsure as to why he was ready to say it, but he did.

“I was afraid. I wasn’t ready to be different, to say that I’m different, to...get out of the cocoon of popularity.”

After more interrogation, that ended up just being a repeating of his words, a servant knocked on the door. “I have two messages, Captain Martin. The first is that there is to be a dinner tonight, so you should all change and dress accordingly. Also, Mr. Reddington congratulates you on successfully dosing Mr. Hale with veritaserum.” Derek scowled and turned to her. He knew that veritas was the latin word for truth. 

“Thank you,” she nodded at the servant and he left. She turned to Derek. “You really do have murderous eyebrows.” 

**______________________________**

Peter came to visit his nephew not long after, chuckling that he’d been amused by his being dosed with a truth serum, telling the scowling lacrosse player to shrug it all off. “What’re you wearing?” Peter smoothed down the front of his jacket.

“It’s called white tie, nephew dear. Now come, time to bathe and change. Quickly.” H =e pointed at the clock. Derek couldn’t believe that everything that had transpired had all happened in the last seven or eight hours. He grabbed the tall teenager by the neck and pulled him along to his guest bedroom. A man servant stood there, various clothes strewn about. Peter pushed him to the bathroom. “Shower, now, and Terrence here will help you dress properly after. Come to the living room after.” He left him, Derek more confused than ever. He turned to the middle aged man. The servant raised an eyebrow.

“Shower’s running sir, I suggest using the milk and honeysuckle soap, it’s freshly unpacked.” Terrence then turned back to his duties. Derek saw no choice as to shower. He did so, not really thinking, his mind on Stiles, below and asleep. He stepped out of the shower, a pair of socks and underwear waiting for him and a robe. He dried and dressed, stepping out to find Terrence waiting for him. A set of tails and white tie was waiting on the bed. 

About thirty minutes later found Derek walking down the stairs, feeling terribly uncomfortable. His hair had been slicked back, his face moisturized, and he wore an impeccable set of tails with white tie. The living room had different furniture again, in muted reds and golds, now more suited for a smaller group of guests. Servants in liveries stood at splindly little tables, serving cocktails or liquor. His mother wore a one shouldered gown of resplendent red and matching earrings of garnet and electrum. She waved Derek over and handed him a glass of amber colored liquid. Lydia joined them, wearing a pantsuit of choral with a cream blouse. “It’s Pentoshi amber wine, you’ll enjoy it.” She clinked their glasses. Derek was unsure of what to do, noticing various figures he’d seen below. A woman he’d been told was named Dax, with spots down the side of her face and neck, arrived in a high shouldered dress of myrtle green. 

She and Talia hugged. “Dax, may I introduce my son. Derek Hale. Derek, this is Dax, Chief Science Officer for Ravensholme and Executive Officer of Deep Space Nine.” Derek nodded, giving a tight half smile. Dax smiled warmly. 

“I’ve heard much about you Derek, a pleasure. I suppose Laura and Cora won’t be joining us?” Talia shook her head. 

“Laura isn’t ready to know the truth of it all, but I believe Cora has guessed. Laura is spending the night with friends, at my gentle insistence. Cora was invited to dinner, but she’s decided to remain in her room. I plan on telling her everything tomorrow. I want her forewarned and forearmed before returning to school on Monday.” Derek decided not to comment, as it was a Thursday and he’d expected them to return tomorrow. His mother brought him around, introducing him to other figures, till she released him into the care of the twins, who sat with Lady Rosamund and Winston. 

“Mr. Hale, please do sit.” Derek sat awkwardly on the edge of the couch. The smaller furniture made it possible for large groups to congregate in various areas. They all sat off to the side near a window. Aidan and Ethan engaged in a game of chess while Winston and Rosamund seemed eager to interrogate him. 

“Yes,” said the man, adjusting his jeweled cravat, “I’m interested to know of the man who seems to be lusting after my dear grandson.”

“Now, now Winston. You can’t pretend Mr. Hale isn’t respectable. His mother commands our North American operation. And the Hale Family are a prominent name.” She smiled at Derek as if that settled the matter. Aidan and Ethan snickered.

They were called into dinner, Derek grateful to be able to escape the interrogation by Lady Rosamund and Winston. He was glad to find that, according to the name card, he’d be sitting next to Lydia. The dining room had been transformed. The dining room table was longer, now comfortably seating the twenty or so guests, with rooms for the servants in liveries at the wall. Derek looked at the multitude of plates and utensils and glasses and felt himself clamming up. “Relax,” Lydia whispered, “Just work from the outside in. Oh and you’re sitting next to Quarsh Panaka.” Derek glanced at the man to his right, in crisp military uniform, his face set in razor sharp lines, quietly speaking across the table to Dax. 

Lydia kept up a running commentary through the dinner, while subtly directing him on which utensil and dish to use. They’d started with cocktails and small bites in the living room, and now moved on to a soup. It was a pumpkin bisque with cheese gnocchi. He wondered who cooked it...and then wondered if Stiles would like food like this. Lydia kept him distracted as they were served turbot, a “traditional Victorian-era fish for royalty.” Derek was drawn into conversation about his favorite sports, Lydia keeping him busy with questions. As they night wore on, he found himself answering the questions of various other guests, all very much about him and who he was. As the dinner came near the end, Talia stood, and she and the ladies all went off to the living room while the men were served cigars, cigarettes, and port. Derek stood off, Ethan and Aidan with him, as Remington and Winston held court.

“You did well.” Jackson had walked up to them, sipping brandy, looking troubled. Ethan raised an eyebrow at his love, surprised at his willingness to compliment Derek. The lacrosse player raised his eyebrows, but slowly nodded.

“Thanks?” The twins laughed. Aidan clapped him on the back. 

“That’s high praise from Jackson. He’s never one to willingly admit to that.” Jackson gave Aidan a baleful glare, but they all tensed as Winston called out. 

“Come and join us, you four, before we go through to join the ladies.” The man’s welcoming smile was only a touch kinder than his sons. They all sat round the table, joining Stiles grandfather and uncle, as well as Charon, Quarsh, and a few others Derek had learned to know were important figures within the faction. “So, Mr. Hale, it seems you’ve taken a liking to dear Stiles.” The air grew thick with tension as the men all stared him down. Derek had never felt more uncomfortable or intimidated in his life. He made to open his mouth, but clammed up. 

“Spit it out, boy,” Quarsh Panaka’s voice was hard, like steel. 

“Yes sir, I do...I am worried, that is…” Derek trailed off, feeling his cheeks go hot. Ethan reached under the table and squeezed his hand sympathetically, Derek surprised at the kindness. It was Reddington who shook his head at him, sighing, before sipping his port. 

“Well aren’t you just a fascinating conversationalist.”

**______________________________**

“How do you all do that every night!?” Derek had joined Phoenix Squadron in their quarters in the C&C. He was flopped down on the floor, glad for the hard surface as his back was killing him, aching from standing at attention all night. Lydia looked down her nose at him from where she was on the couch, wearing lilac silk pajamas. 

“We don’t have dinner with the High Command of Ravensholme every evening. Plus that was formal, even for them. It was primarily for Lady Rosamund’s benefit, and Winston’s.” Derek raised an eyebrow at her. 

“The posh, English woman.”

“Who happens to be over a hundred years old and whose family, the Crawley’s of Grantham, happen to own one of the largest companies that Ravensholme employs.” Derek rolled his eyes. Of course they did. “Don’t roll your eyes Derek, if you’re to be in love with our dear Stiles you’ll need to learn all of this. This is background information to him.” Derek’s cheeks went red and he barked out indignantly.

“Who says I’m in love with him.” Lydia didn’t say anything, just nuzzled into Aidan’s side more. The muscled lycan didn’t even look up from his tablet. 

“And I thought Jackon had the power of denial down better than anyone we knew.”

**______________________________**

None of them went to school the next day. Ethan had texted Corey, telling the kid to go to school and that he’d come and get him, but the teen refused, just asked for updates. He was adamant, but Lydia told them all to leave it be. “Besides, Talia says she’ll keep an eye on him.” The work they’d all missed the other day miraculously appeared and they’d all been ordered by Talia to do it.

“We have to keep up appearances,” was the alpha wolf’s argument. Derek found that the others were easy to study with, easy to fall into speaking to. He found himself being his usual silent self, but it was more out of because he was comfortable, versus having to hide who he was. They finished their work well before lunch and spent the time in Stiles' room, the teen still in his unnatural slumber. He looked worse, his body weight falling, and his skin growing more sallow as the time passed. Derek stared at him, almost as if he could single handedly force him to wake. The others tried to get him to come outside with him, but he refused.

“I think that’s enough for the time being.” He turned his head. Lady Rosamund entered, wearing an impeccable black floor length dress with wide fur brimmed sleeves and a diamond brooch. She gave him the kindest smile he’d seen from her. “My dear, come upstairs. These command and control centers can be so...sterile. Come.” He wasn’t sure why, but he felt compelled to follow. No doubt it was another spell or drug, which made him scowl. He looked at Stiles one last time, his hand jerking as if to reach out, but he thought better of it. He followed Her Ladyship from the room. He found himself pulled into the living room, where Cora sat with his mother. She looked at him. 

“Only you would fall in love with the heir to a magical space dynasty.” She stood and walked away, leaving Derek exasperated, looking to the heavens and wondering what he’d done to deserve this. Talia chuckled and sipped her tea. 

“Derek come sit with me.” He looked at Lady Rosamund, who sat on the loveseat next to Winston, his mother across from them. He did so and a servant in livery stepped forth. 

“He’ll have the tej, unless you’d like something stronger my dear boy?” Winston was being genuinely kind. Derek wasn’t sure what tej was, but said that that was fine. He watched as they filled a vessel with a thick golden liquid that smelled of fermented honey. His mother raised an eyebrow. 

“If it weren’t for the fact that it was a Friday, and -” Talia was cut off. 

“Talia, he’ll have to get used to the way we do things anyways. Might as well start now.” Derek poured the honey wine from its berele, and sipped. He found he liked it immensely. “It’s one of Stiles’ favorites. Honey, believe it or not, is a major commodity for Ravensholme.” He looked at all of them, but it was a voice from over by the door frame that piped up. 

“The conditions.” It was a bald boy, unearthly pale, shirtless, with brands of what looked to be a motor engine on his chest, with scarred lips. His hands were streaked with engine oil. 

“That’s right,” smiled Winston, “Nux is correct. The conditions on so many worlds aren’t right for bees. So honey, believe it or not, is incredibly rare and precious. As they require a delicate ecosystem. Bee, and frankly most pollinator products are backbones of our economic strength.”

“Nux?” Dax came through the Solarium doors. He looked up. “Can you go and check on Mr. Hale’s vessel? The report showed damage to one of the port nacelles, but I’m having trouble identifying where.” He nodded and scurried off. 

“I must say Jadzia, you’ve managed wonderfully with the boy. I remember he could barely speak at all when he first joined up.” Jadzia bowed to Rosamund. 

“A work in progress, but he’s a good kid. Just trying to convince him to leave the Citadel. I think he’s holding onto his memories, the few good ones, from before we took over.” Talia sipped her tea.

“Is he in therapy?” Jadzia nodded and for a while Derek sipped his tej as figures came and went. Apparently it was not uncommon for this. He noticed though that as people joined or left, decisions, or important conversations had been had. Winston leaned over at some point. 

“You’re picking up on it.” Derek looked at him. Winston nodded around. “You’re picking up that this isn’t just a casual place for us all to gather and be friendly,” he nodded over to Quarsh Panaka and Okoye. They were sipping thai iced tea with garnishes of bloodthistle. “They discuss whether or not to dispatch the Farstriders, our intelligence forces, or the Blood Hawks, a military unit, to Cerador, a perennial problem point for Ravensholme. And over there,” he nodded to Dax talking animatedly with Reddington, “my son discusses how to shield several smuggler ships of his from an approaching ion storm, to ensure their cargo arrives on time and undamaged.” Winston pulled back, nodding at Derek. Phoenix Squadron came back in from the outside, where they spent time in the Preserve surrounding Hale House, Cora was with them. Lydia sat on the settee next to Rosamund. 

“What exactly did you say to Mrs. McCall?” Rosamund smiled. 

“Oh, a little of this and a little of that, nothing too serious or terrible. Enough that she believed us.” She clearly refused to answer. As Derek began to wonder what else the day would hold, one of the staff doctors darted in and whispered something in Winston’s ear. He practically flew off the couch, the doors of the solarium flying open, Reddington hot on his heels. 

It was Stiles

**______________________________**

The room was crowded with Doctors and sendings and droids as alarms blared. Blood poured from Stiles mouth, nose, ears, and eyes. He still wasn’t awake, but he was coughing up a storm. He even tried to extubate himself. Winston and Reddington stood back, Rosamund with a firm grip on them both as they stared at Stiles with looks of utter desolation. Derek wasn’t any better. The twins had wrapped their hands around his shoulders, a comfort and a warning to stay back and let the doctors work. The lead doctor walked up to the Triumvirate, gathered at the foot of the bed. Amelia nodded. “Report.” In quick succession they learned that Stiles body was beginning to shut down, his spirit having been gone too long and he’d rejected nourishment. Amelia turned to Dax, the woman stricken. “Send for Bashir. Now.” Jadzia ran off to call Deep Space Nine. The Chairwoman turned back to the doctor.

Winston and Raymond were allowed to go to Stiles' side, both of them holding his hands. They stopped the droids and took the wet sponges themselves, rolling up their sleeves, before washing their beloved grandson/nephew. Nobody commented when both of them wiped their eyes a few times. Derek slumped into a chair against the wall, looking down at the floor. Even Lydia seemed less than collected as she furiously searched through her tablet, looking for answers to their predicament. It was late afternoon when Jackson piped up that they should get Corey, Aidan and Ethan going with him. Nobody wanted to admit it was because they feared the worst. Derek felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up. Peter Hale looked down at him, in a way he’d never seen him before. “Come on, you need to get out of here.” Derek surged upwards. 

“I’m not -”

“The doctors and medics and healers need to be with him right now. We all need to get out of their way. They know what they’re doing.” His words were simple and his voice was calm, as if he was talking to a patient himself. He gently steered Derek to the door, but Derek pulled away and walked up to Stiles’ bed. Raymond looked at him like a newborn mother would look at a potential predator. Winston put a hand on his shoulder, a warning to keep his tongue. Derek looked at Stiles and thought back to shared coffees, and a love of literature, he thought to witty remarks and tracing moles with his eyes. He thought of sharing stellas on a balcony, and of the scent of cinnamon. **_‘I may never get the chance…’_ **So he leaned down and kissed Stiles on the forehead, before he left the room. He didn’t have time to notice the surprise on everyone’s faces when Stiles vitals ticked up slightly and the outline of his lips could be seen, faintly, lingering, like starlight. 

**______________________________**

Derek sat in what he was told was his family’s hangar. His uncle’s ship, apparently named _The Rogue Alpha_ which made Derek think his uncle even more stupid than he’d already thought, sat in a bay, the odd mechanic, Nux, tinkering away. It was, according to it’s tags, a J-type Star Skiff. He sat, watching Nux work, the boy not saying a word, almost as if Derek wasn’t there. Derek didn’t react as people came and went, surprising even himself that he found the taking off of these marvelous sci-fi ships of little to no interest to him. He went over and over in his head of all the things he’d wanted to say, but didn’t, of all the moments he’d wanted to tell Stiles that he had a growing crush on the boy. Derek’s cheeks heated up thinking of when he first realized Stiles had one of, if not the finest, ass he’d seen. It’d been the day they met, when Stiles walked away after english. It was high, tight, perfectly round, and begging to be spanked. Normally thoughts of Stiles as aroused him, not all it did was make him think of all the things they’d never do.

“Reminiscing?” He looked up. A man, with muscles that stood out in high relief, better than his own, stood before him. He wore a red and black body suit, unzipped and pulled down around his waist, twin swords clutched in his hands. “Thinking about Stiles’ butt? It’s a nice butt. I’d gladly diddle him if he’d let me.” Derek’s eyes went wide, but he felt a primal rage fill him, he gnashed his teeth and stared at this man who gave him a dopey grin and shrugged. “I mean...Reddington can’t kill me. I’d just regenerate. So I can play the tonsil tango with Stiles’ butthole and -” Derek lunged for the man, who danced away, laughing. “Oh, so the doggy can bite.” Before Derek could lunge again, raging coursing through his veins, a voice rang out. 

“Stop this at once.” It was a posh British accent, but it wasn’t Rosamund’s. A woman in a red sheath dress and tan overcoat and matching bowler was strutting up to them. She wore round black glasses and was pulling off a pair of traveling gloves. Derek turned to her, ready to tell her to back off, but stopped. She surveyed him from over her sunglasses. Her haughty, imperious manner, made him pause. She turned to the offensive, if odd, man. “Wade. Leave Mr. Hale be, he is worried sick, as we all are. Now go bathe and change.” Wade gave a mocking salute, pretending to whack off, turned on his heel, and marched off. “Ungh. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s family I'd have a right mind to…” She trailed off and looked at him. She gave him a kind smile. “I’m Lady Mary Talbot of House Crawley. I’ve heard much about you, Derek.” He wasn’t sure what to make of this woman. “I’m Lady Rosamund’s niece.” He was completely unclear on what to say. 

“He seems speechless, darling.” Mary turned, two men appearing behind her. One man was tall, lithe, with black hair and sharp, handsome olive features. The other was blonde, pale, and his eyes seemed to radiate an unnatural light. He was the stockier, more muscled of the two men. 

“Indeed. Mr. Hale, these are my husbands. Messrs Henry Talbot,” the tall olive man nodded, giving him a sad smile, “and Matthew Crawley,” the blonde one nodded, holding out a hand, which Derek reluctantly shook. His skin was as cold as ice. Derek recoiled slightly and Matthew laughed.

“First experience with the undead?” It was Mary who answered. 

“It can’t be. Lady Amelia is here.” Before Derek could say a word, Okoye marched out and greeted the three, directing the servants to unload a large red and gold metal blimp that seemed to have brought them. They bade Derek goodbye, Henry and Matthew joining hands, and left the hangar. Derek realized Okoye was trying to get his attention, waving in his face. 

“Far away?” He grunted, still angry, and somewhat deflated. She nodded.

“Wade Wilson, codename Deadpool. A fine operative, if a little reckless and...eccentric -”

“He’s fucking rude and disgusting. The things he said about Stiles -”

“He says them about everyone.” She gave him a flat look, making it clear that if she weren’t bothered, he shouldn’t be either. “Plus, he can’t be killed. A useful trait.” Derek grunted and looked off, hoping no more eccentric characters would be arriving. “Derek…” Okoye’s voice was trepidatious. He turned to look at her. She looked at him, as if dealing with a starved, wild tiger. Or a wolf, in his case. 

“We may have a way to find Stiles’ spirit.”

**______________________________**

The creatures were frightening, to Derek. They were above six feet tall, clad in blued steel and white cloth, their wings touching the ground. The Val’kyr, he was told, were loyal to Ravensholme, for Claudia Stilinski had solved the problem of their inability to procreate. And, according to Okoye, they’d considered Stiles one of their own since the day he was born. 

“And you’re absolutely sure you saw this?” Annhylde the Caller’s voice echoed, and the air around her went from cold to hot at intermittent bursts. Winston nodded

Annhylde turned and spoke in soft tones to Daschla, her compatriot. They looked at Derek, though he wasn't sure if they were looking. He couldn’t tell. For their eyes, if they had them, were covered up. “Step forth, Derek of Hale.” It was odd to hear himself referred to in such a way, but he slowly stepped forward. “Kiss the young masters forehead.” 

Derek stopped. How could he do such a thing with so many people around him. It surprised him when Reddington stepped forward. “Do it. Now.” His voice promised violence if he didn’t listen. Slowly, Derek leaned forward, apologizing to Stiles and sending up a prayer that this wouldn’t embarrass him too badly. He kissed Stiles forehead, brushing his lips barely. Raymond snorted and pushed his head down, firmly, till his lips were pressed fully against Stiles flesh. He flailed and pulled back, ready to yell at Stiles’ uncle, but was shocked to find a silver imprint on Stiles’ forehead in the shape of his lips. 

Annhylde nodded, “this proves it. Derek can serve as a tether.” The room grew animated as everyone spoke at once, but Okoye slammed the but of her spear into the ground, regaining control. She turned to the Val’kyr. 

“Annhylde, please explain what this means?” The Val’kyr, to Derek’s best understanding, were saying that Stiles’ body was reacting to him in such a way that his soul could be used as a beacon, to both find Stiles and bring him back. Okoye looked at Talia who took her eldest son’s hand. 

“Derek, none of us want to force you to do anything.”

“Speak for yourself.” Rosamund shot Remington a look. Talia forged ahead.

“This means, though, that you could potentially be able to help find Stiles spirit and bring it back to his body.” Derek looked at the boy, hooked up to even more machines and wires than before, his vitals low. He stared, hard, feeling an urge to nuzzle the boy, to protect him, rise within him. He turned to his mother.

“What do I need to do?”

**______________________________**

They wheeled Stiles into the chamber. It had been restricted to the few who would be involved. The Val’kyr floated above the ground, their eerie chants filling the room with a melancholic song. A great pentagram was drawn on the floor with intersecting runes, and overlapping lines. Phoenix Squadron sat at the cardinal points. Derek walked forward, feeling silly, dressed in nothing but a pair of tight black briefs, his body covered in sigils drawn in a thick, white magical ink. He stood over Stiles and Annhylde’s voice sounded in his mind.

**_Annhylde - ‘Now, open your veins and let Stiles drink of your life force.’_ **

Derek felt this was all rather dramatic and silly, the way she spoke, but the sound of chanting filled the room as Stiles' friends began casting the complex spell, weaving their voices with the Val’kyr. Derek grit his teeth as he took the blued damascus steel blade and brought it to his wrist. He paused, then spoke out in a loud voice. “Drink of my blood, Stiles Stilinski, My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts” he put his wrist to Stiles’ mouth, letting the blood drip into his mouth. “We are one.” Without warning Lydia’s voice let out a great scream, louder than anything, and Derek found the world go black. He was falling…

_Derek landed with a thump, his breath knocked out of him. He groaned, slowly sitting up as his head stopped spinning. He squinted, as the light around him blinded him, before his eyes adjusted. He was laying, quite literally, on a cloud. At first he felt panic overcome him, but then he realized...he was floating too. Quite literally he was floating. As he moved to get up, he yelped and flailed like a newborn calf as he was launched into the air, floating. “Okay...definitely not in Beacon Hills anymore.” He looked down and stopped. A golden cord was wrapped around his ankle, and it flung off into the distance, far from him. He remembered how Lydia explained that this was the spell, connecting him and Stiles. “Okay...okay, here goes…” He stretched his arms out in front of him...and screamed as he was flung forward, at a breakneck pace._

_It took Derek some time but he eventually learned how to fly. He dove over the clouds, surrounded by an expanse of white, with the rays of the sun, a great blazing orb on the horizon in the distance, bathing them in oranges, pinks, and reds. A clear expanse of sky hung over him as he sped along. He was somewhat embarrassed to find himself still in nothing but briefs...but oh well…_

_He stopped, swooping up. He had arrived at a ridge of sorts. Below him was the most beautiful expanse he’d ever seen. It was a great plain of rolling green hills, dotted here and there with orchards and lakes. A pristine river stretched out into the distance. Flowers swayed in some invisible breeze he couldn’t feel. And all around little werelights came into existence as the sun sunk low over the horizon, and the flowers began to glow with phosphorescence._

_“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He turned, startled. A woman with hair that fell in auburn ringlets floated next to him, dressed in a lilac dress with a diagonal stripe pattern running across it. The stripe...was made of gold metal thread...they were honeycombs...and the woman bore a brooch of arsenic bronze in the shape of a raven in flight. The woman smiled at him, her stormy gold eyes glowing. The same eyes as Stiles. “Come, Mr. Hale. Let us go find my son. I fear,” she said looking off into the distance, “that he is in danger.”_

_Derek’s initial shock didn’t really wear off, but he was forced to follow the woman, not entirely sure she was Stiles’ mother, the famous Claudia Stilinski. The dove over lakes and streams, the fields coming alight with a bioluminescent glow. He plucked up the courage. “Where are we going?” She pointed at his ankle and smiled._

_“Following the trail, of course.” Suddenly, with a sound like tearing fabric, two great wings, pitch black, sprung from her back, and she climbed higher and higher. Derek followed, watching as the woman dove through the air on her wings…_ **_’Raven’s wings...how fitting.’_ ** _He yelped as she touched his mind._

**_‘They are, aren’t they.’_ **

_Then they turned another bend and stopped. The air was thick and Derek could taste metal in his mouth, an acrid smell filling the air. It was industrial in nature, and fetid as well. He gagged, Claudia held up her hand to her nose. Derek looked out and saw that the green fields gave way to a cracked and hot land or baked earth, noxious fumes spilling into the air from wicked gouges in the earth that glowed a sickly green. “Fel magic has been used here,” Claudia told him. She landed, Derek followed. “We must go by foot, travel by air is no longer safe. Without waiting for him she stepped forward, walking briskly into the tainted realm. Derek growled, but knew he had no other choice, for the golden thread went into the hellscape._

_He wasn’t sure how long they walked, but at times they came across wicked looking spiders, small, that chittered at them, but ran when Claudia fanned her wings. When they finally came across one, the size of a jack russell, she fanned her wings, several feathers launching and slicing through the creature._ **_‘Definitely shouldn’t piss her off. She’s like Lydia.’_ **

**_‘Where do you think Ms. Martin got most of her attitude?’_ ** _Derek cursed himself, knowing he really needed to just speak or think out loud. They walked on, further and further, till they came to a great mountain or spiny crags, interlocked together. Claudia didn’t stop, stepping through into the opening created by them. Derek stopped. He was utterly unsure of whether to follow. Claudia stopped and looked at him. She gave him a look he felt he’d seen before, quite a few times._

_“Of course you’ve seen it before. Stiles is my son after all. Let’s go!” He surged forward, really, really wishing he was wearing something other than underwear._

**______________________________**

_Stiles sighed in happiness, his head in his mother’s lap, the woman smiling and stroking his hair. They lay by a crystalline mountain lake, what looked like the alps rising around them, a field of mountain wildflowers suffusing the air with a pleasant, sweet scent. He’d been like this, for a while now, not wanting to rise from her lap. He’d awoken from a terrible dream, where he’d lost his mother and forced to live with his so-called father in Beacon Hills. His giggled._

_“What is it,” Claudia asked him, smiling._

_“Just thinking how silly my dream was, nightmare really.” Claudia smiled and leaned down, kissing Stiles cheek._

_“It was a dream, darling. Nothing could take you away from me.” Right as she said that, a hint of something foul touched Stiles, a foul scent. He wrinkled his nose. It was the smell of burnt flesh, which he knew of. “Shh, darling, rest. Mother’s here.” He relaxed, cuddling closer to his mother. For the briefest moment it felt like her hand was covered in bandages, but he forgot it as probably a trick of his mind, or the breeze, for her hands were soft and warm, pressing against his back._

**______________________________**

_Derek groaned as they walked through a foul smelling bramble, chunks of rotting corpses caught here and there. “Not far now,” Claudia called out to him._

_“Not that I don’t appreciate you crawling through a thornbush that smells like rotting flesh with me, or that you’ve led me here...not that I’m even sure you are who you say you are...but where exactly are we,” his voice was exasperated and full of annoyance. Claudia laughed, which reminded him of Stiles._

_“I promise you, I am Claudia Stilinski. And we are at what was the tomb of my soul, the resting place of my consciousness, all that I was, am, and will be.” Derek rolled with it, still not used to all of this magic stuff, but he had to ask._

_“You said it was your tomb...what happened?” Claudia reached out a hand, helping him up over a boulder of oily black stone. She grimaced._

_“I didn’t realize that the Preserve was home to a Nemeton, that was disturbed by the arrival of my soul. It released something. Something dark and foul that’s been feeding off Stiles. It entered him through his dreams, nightmares really. Feeding off his grief. I can’t wait till I tear it’s throat out.” She growled at the end, her eyes and fangs flashing. In that moment Derek was reminded of Stiles and his own mother._

_“Hell hath no fury like a mother whose cubs are in danger, Derek. Mess with my kid and I’ll claw your fucking eyes out.” She spoke in a soft, deadly voice, that also reminded him of Stiles. They walked through a dark tunnel, but Claudia suddenly stopped. She held up her hand, a golden spark floating in it, illuminating a giant cavern. Full of giant spiders. Horrifying creatures with angry black eyes and chittering fangs and a multitude of hairs, all the size of a double bed. Derek was frozen with fear. She turned to Derek. “I don’t suppose you’ve begun your formal training?” Her voice was soft, demure, and quite sarcastic. She nodded. “Thought not, get down dear.” Derek ducked as the spiders lunged, Claudia expanded her wings and unleashed a battle cry._

**______________________________**

_Stiles felt himself growing more and more sleepy. “Shh, sleep little one. I’ll be right here.” He sighed in contentment, happy to never leave his mother again, that terrible nightmare he’d awoken from scaring him. Again, the scent of burnt flesh met his nose, making him wrinkle his face in distaste, but this time it wouldn’t go away. He shifted, trying to get comfortable, as his mother rubbed circles on his back._

_“Get. The. Fuck. Away. From. My. Son.” Stiles looked up, his eyes widening in shock. Claudia Stilinski stood there, resplendent in a dress of lilac, her beautiful hair falling in ringlets. Yet she was streaked with some sort of sickly green blood, and behind her, her raven’s wings fanned out and her nails extended into claws. And right next to her, also covered in gore, looking beyond relieved to see Stiles, was Derek Hale...in his underwear? With weird signs painted on him in some sort of white, thick paint. He turned to look back at...his mother? Claudia, or the Claudia whose lap he had been laying his head in, looked at the two with a thunderous expression._

_Her eyes went steely and she stood, pushing Stiles behind her. “Stay back Stiles! Someone or something has pierced my protection. Get away from them!” She held up her hands, the fingers alighting with blue flames that spread up to her forearms. He stood, staying behind her, utterly unsure of what was happening._

_“Stiles,” cried out Derek. He leaned back, away from the man, remembering how he’d spoken at Halloween. His mother, the one without wings, stepped forward._

_“Stay away from my son you -” She didn’t finish because she was forced to hold up her hands, projecting a blast of fire to disintegrate the sharp deaths that came flying at her. Claudia, the real one according to Derek, flung high into the air, before diving, punching the fire Claudia. They wore the same outfit, so it was hard to tell who was who, the only thing they had in difference being fire and wings._

_“Stiles, lend me your strength!” His “mother” reached out, hand alight with flame, and her eyes...full of tears. Stiles unwittingly flashed back to his dream...of how he’d lost her...of how he’d begged her to stay as she closed her eyes, silently crying, promising to always be with him, as she left him...forever. Derek watched as Stiles shook, the world seeming to stop, before he exploded._

**_“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!”_ ** _The three were thrown backwards, the wind leaving all of them as the field was flattened, the flowers scattering to the wind, and the lake water shot straight into the air. Black and blue energies whirled around Stiles like a great wind, his body shook with their power. He was screaming, incoherently, his mind in a fog of pure rage. He looked up and Derek stopped. Instead of golden amber eyes, pools of pitch black met him. Stiles flung his hands outwards._

_Derek would later say he hadn’t shrieked, but he shrieked as Claudia pulled him high into the air, flying away. “Stiles has taken to the void! Whatever you do, don’t let him hit you!” Claudia dropped him behind a rock before she flew off, straight for her son, doing some of the most impressive flying Derek had ever seen. She dodged, wove, and weaved, deftly avoiding blasts of energy. The fake Claudia, no longer alight with flame, stood next to Stiles, laughing madly, her mouth open in a too wide grin, her canines becoming sharp, but like needles, not fangs._

_“That’s right Stiles! Defend me! Defend your mother!” She laughed maniacally, and Derek saw it, for the briefest of seconds, the energies pouring off of Stiles surrounded her, her outline forming, for the briefest of moments, a laughing fox. It was at that moment he knew he had to do something. Claudia couldn’t get close, but neither Stiles nor the impostor Claudia were paying attention to him. The water had crashed back into the lake. He kept low to the ground, and crawled out from behind the rock. He groaned as he was buffeted with the energy waves rolling off Stiles, the ground rippling like the surface of the water._

_He came to the water's edge and crawled into it, swimming low and over to the closest point to Stiles. He looked up, watching as Claudia again dodged, firing off feathers at her doppelganger, Stiles blocking them. “Here goes nothing,” Derek muttered, hoping she’d hear him and not them._

**_‘I’m a tad busy Derek, trying to get close to my son without having my soul cast into oblivion. What?’_ **

**_‘I’m by the shore.’_ **

**_‘Get out of there!’_ **

**_‘I can reach him! How do I do that and stop him!?’_ ** _Instead of arguing he could feel Claudia become contemplative, even as she expertly dove away, Stiles becoming more frustrated, the doppelganger laughing maniacally._

**_‘Blood.’_ **

**_‘What?’_ **

**_‘Dive into the lake. Find a rock, Cut the palm of your left hand and draw this symbol onto the top of your right, then run and slam it into the face of whatever that demon is. It will reveal its true form.’_ **

**_‘Got it.’_ ** _Derek looked around for a sharp rock. He slunk beneath the water, before he found one with a decently hard edge. He came back up and grit his teeth, pressing the edge into his hand and dragging it across. His skin split and he let out a breath, before making another cut through the first, groaning, before he beheld the bloody X. He gathered the blood, the symbol still in his mind, and drew it on the back of his right palm._

_Claudia dove down, making sure to zig around, giving a distraction. Derek looked up…”Here goes nothing…” He ran forward, palm outstretched, absolutely sure he looked ridiculous. Claudia landed on a rock, before leaping as Stiles tried to blow her apart...and right as the doppelganger laughed again, Derek roared out, and it turned...only to be struck right in the face, giving out an unearthly human cry._

_Derek and the doppelganger tumbled to the ground, but the lacrosse co-captain kept a firm grip on its face, despite it gripping his wrist with a prodigious strength, trying to remove him. Beneath his palm, it’s face smoked and bubbled. They rolled again, before Derek was blown backward by such a force he was sure his whole body would collapse from the force. Stiles looked at him, murder in his face, but stopped as the real Claudia called out._

_“Look Stiles, look at your so called mother! Look and feast upon the eyes of the mad creature that sought to deceive you!” Stiles contemptuously flicked his eyes over at what he believed to be his mother, expecting to see her hurt and disheveled, but stopped, his mouth falling upon, recoiling. A man wrapped head to toe in bandages lay, gripping his face, before pulling back, revealing a black and burned mouth, the flesh mottled and the color of soot. It looked up, though it had no eyes._

_Stiles' energies stopped, receding inside of him as he recoiled backwards from his...mother. “What...what is going on...what is this!!??” The real Claudia landed._

_“It is the evil that has poisoned you, Stiles. A nogitsune, imprisoned by the Nemeton of the Preserve, disturbed by the resting of my soul, it escaped and came to rest within you, feeding on your grief.” The so-called nogitsune spoke up._

_“No, do not believe it Stiles. That,” it pointed at the real Claudia, “is the real Nogitsune. It has crafted a glamour and ensorcelled me! Kill it now and set me free! Protect us!” But Stiles didn’t do anything, he backed away, his eyes returning to normal, great tears falling. Neither the nogitsune or Claudia approached him. A groan filled the air, and he looked over. Derek Hale, left palm bleeding profusely, slowly stood up. He breathed heavily and looked at Stiles. Somehow, he found himself the strength to speak. He pointed at the nogitsune._

_“That, is not your mother. She is,” he pointed at Claudia, Stiles’ eyes dancing back and forth. “You’re under a spell. Your spirit has left your body, you’re dying. In the real world and this,” he waved his arms around, “isn’t real.” Stiles screamed, crying._

_“You’re wrong! This is the real world!” The nogitsune laughed._

_“Yes, it is Stiles. And these creatures seek to tear us apart. Destroy them! Free me from this glamour!”_

_“Don’t listen to it Stiles! It isn’t your mother! It’s killing you!” Stiles grabbed his head, falling to his knees, screaming and crying. But it was Claudia who spoke._

_“Mi tovarish.” Stiles stopped, his eyes going wide, his breath hitching. He looked up slowly. Claudia sat on the ground, her wings slowly receding. She stared at Stiles with such kindness, and love, giving him the saddest and most kind smile Derek had ever seen. It was the smile full of love that a mother had only for her child. “Look within you, like I told you,” she said gently, “and find your truth.” Stiles stared at her wide eyed._

_The nogitsune began to creep away, gnashing it’s teeth, sensing things were about to turn against it, but was stopped by a foot on it’s shoulder, pushing it into the ground. “Unless you want this,” Derek thrust out his unharmed hand, the nogitsune flinching, “I’d stay still if I were you.” Stiles looked down at his hands, streaked with dust and tears and sweat. Slowly, a little trickle of blood left his nose. He flinched and wiped it up, before looking at it. He then stopped and looked at Derek’s injured hand._

_Without warning, he conjured a knife and cut his hands, holding out his palms to Claudia and the Nogitsune. Claudia smiled wide, cut both her hands on a discarded feather, and took both of Stiles hands. Light erupted around them, Derek shielding his eyes, while the nogitsune scrambled backwards, hissing, it’s plot foiled. The light dissipated and standing there, resplendent in a white robe, was Stiles. He smiled, a wide toothy grin, his mother matching him, she dressed in a white dress, like a greek goddess._

_Then, however, his expression grew thunderous, and he slowly turned, locking eyes on the retreating nogitsune, which tried to run. Derek watched with wide eyes as Stiles moved so fast Derek couldn’t see him. Stiles wrapped his hand around the nogitsune, his nails extending into matte black claws, his eyes alight. He lifted the creature into the air. “_ **_You. Are. Not. My. Mother.”_ **

_“Stiles,” the creature gasped, “no, I am, I can explain, plea-” It gagged as Stiles' grip tightened. He held it higher, Claudia walking up to Derek and taking his palm, healing it with a wave of her hand, cleaning him of blood and gore. He felt as if he’d suddenly taken a shower and dried off in the same breath. Stiles' voice echoed with power._

**_“Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours, like a beast!”_ ** _The ground began to shake, storm clouds gathered, and thunder roared._

_“No, Stiles,” the nogitsune was full of fear now, “I can explain...I can help you, yes…” It’s outline blurred and shifted. Derek’s eyes widened as he beheld Stiles holding up...Stiles. Yet it wasn’t exactly Stiles. It was a dark Stiles, with no color to his eyes, the skin the color of a bleached bone. “I can teach you things you never thought you could learn, secrets of the darkest and greatest arts. Join m-” Stiles had snapped his fingers, and the creature's mouth was covered back black tape. It’s eyes went wide, but it reverted back to it’s normal form._

**_“Not. Interested.”_ ** _The creature pleaded and pleaded, but finally, Stiles had had enough, his veins grew black, and Derek and Claudia watched as his eyes became dark pools again._

_“No, Stiles, please!”_

**_“Go back to the void, from whence you CAAAAAME!”_ ** _Derek gasped as Stiles veins glowed electric blue, and the nogitsune’s body seemed to burst from within, exploding into a million sparks of bright light. Stiles slowly returned to normal, but the white robe disappeared, and his skin grew ashen. He very much appeared as he did in the outside world. Around them the field and mountains and even the sky disappeared, great clouds of dust, whipped up by the wind surrounded them. Derek watched as the mountains fell, revealing the crags they’d crawled through, which themselves crumbled. The hot expanse of baked earth began to seed and flower. He watched as a great forest bloomed instantly around them._

_He yelped as the dirt beneath his feet became solid stone. An open air temple was erecting itself around them..,in the center of which stood a statue of Claudia Stilinski, a golden flame clutched in her hands. Stiles looked around with wonder, as did Derek. Claudia yelped out, “get back.” He and Stiles did. The nogitsunes body had reappeared, but on top of it lay the outline of a fox, it’s fur a mottled black, with angry red eyes and yellow teeth. It tried to dart away but quick as a flash, Stiles reached out and plucked it up with both hands._

_“Stiles,” yelled Derek, but he stopped, flinching, as Stiles promptly snapped the neck of the fox, an unearthly, angry yip leaving the creature's mouth. He dropped the body, which within seconds rotted, and crumbled into dust, carried away on a wind._

_“And that’s that,” he said softly. He looked up, but they all paused. Derek sighed._

_“What now,” he asked exasperatedly. Claudia shushed him and pointed up into the sky. The sun was being eclipsed. Around them the forest became alight with luminescence, and they could hear singing._

**_“Nordrassil...Zin’Azshari...Quel’dorei…”_ ** _They watched as great tendrils of moonlight seemed to extend from the eclipse itself, coming down, wisps floating around them, and they wrapped around the Nogtisune’s body, as the song grew in strength._ **_“Nordrassil...Elune adore…”_ ** _The body disintegrated, but the spirit of a man floated upwards, climbing higher, his arms spread like wings, his spirit glowing like starlight._

_‘Thank you…’ They all heard it, a voice full of nothing but gratitude. As the song ended, Claudia bowed her head, as did Stiles, so Derek followed suit. He looked up and watched as a black rose bloomed where the Nogitsune...or was it the man Derek wondered, had fallen. He stopped wondering though. Claudia and Stiles stared at each other, drinking each other in. Claudia smiled._

_“Hello Stiles.” Slowly but surely, the teenager’s face crumpled, and he ran into his mother’s arms, his real mother, sobbing uncontrollably._

_“Mom.”_

**______________________________**

Derek flew up with a gasp, multiple hand’s steadying him. “Easy there, son.” Winston held him firmly in place, yelling for someone to get a doctor. “Stiles, I have to get to Stiles.” Winston shushed him.

“Derek, my boy, Stiles is alright.” The look on Winston’s face wasn’t convincing enough for him. A doctor who looked to be of middle eastern descent entered the room. He smiled at Derek calmly.

“Mr. Hale I’m Doctor Julian Bashir, one of the Chief Medical Officers of Ravensholme. I’ve been called in to care for you and Stiles. Now,” he pushed Derek down, “lie back and let me have a look at you.” As Doctor Bashir, with help from Dax, looked over him, his room filled with people, his mother hugging him hard, before letting the doctors back at him. Nobody would answer his questions. When it was clear he was alright he lashed out. 

“Would somebody tell me where Stiles is!?” Lydia stepped forward, holding up her hands.

“He’s back in his room, but don’t you remember what happened?” Derek looked at her, his brows murderous. Jackson stepped up.

“Derek, you awoke from the trance, we stopped the ritual. Your hand,” he pointed down to Derek’s left, currently bandaged, “had a nasty X on it. You were delirious.” Ethan chimed in. 

“We asked you what happened and you said, and I quote ‘he’s safe, he’s with his mom, he’ll be here shortly.’ And then you passed out.” Derek looked around, but it was Doctor Bashir who stepped up. 

“You can go see him,” he held up a hand, stopping Derek from flying out of the bed, “provided you use a hoverchair. You experienced enough blood loss that you’ll be dizzy for a bit, and the magical shock to your system was enough to want to monitor you overnight. That said,” he looked to Winston who nodded. “Stiles’ vitals…” he trailed off and began to smile, “have picked up.” Everyone smiled at that. “And we’ve detected that his spirit has returned. I expect him to make a full recovery.” Right as Doctor Bashir said that, Nux ran in, gesturing down the hall, running off again. Winston stared at the door, wide eyed. 

“Well, I guess we had better follow.” The twins helped Derek into a hoverchair, the novelty lost on him as he just wanted to see Stiles. They all rushed down the corridor, the twins pushing him as fast as they could in the crowded hall. They entered Stiles' room, Derek shocked to find Melissa in there, even more so when he saw Sheriff Stilinski behind her with his hands on her shoulders...a nasty bruise forming on the side of his face. Across from them, Raymond Reddington was nursing a fat lip. Corey stood next to Derek and caught his eye.

“I’ll tell you later.” He nodded, staring at Stiles, the teen seeming to be in a state of constant shifting, his body moving like it was plugged in. He suddenly stopped, and let out a great breath, and his eyes slowly, but surely opened. They all watched in amazement as the pale, thin boy looked around, slowly, blinking. He paused when he came upon Melissa, her eyes red from crying, and his father, who looked at him in a way he hadn’t ever before. Stiles paused on them, before turning and looking around at everyone, his eyes landing on Derek, his gaze softening. He then, for the first time since he arrived in Beacon Hills, Stiles gave the tiniest, smallest, truest smile. 

His voice was raspy and low, but they heard him loud and clear. “Sorry for scaring all of you...What’s next?”

**______________________________**

Stiles sighed as he was checked over, for the millionth time. He was sick of the medical ward, wanting to at least get out of the C&C. Unfortunately he had been remanded to bed rest. This was after a **very** uncomfortable conversation with the Triumvirate, his grandfather, and uncle, regarding his use of the hyposprays...and why. Reddington looked positively ready to murder Derek, while Winston and Okoye had laughed themselves so hard that they’d had to pee. The ultimate result was that he was ordered to go to therapy, something he’d resisted till then. Amelia and Charon had been amused, but were more reserved. The methuselah Grand Elder had also grabbed his hands and her eyebrows had shot up. “A void practitioner? That was unexpected.” It seemed this whole trial tribulation had revealed Stiles’ affinity, that was the natural choice of magic his body, mind, and soul were naturally accustomed to. It was void. 

“So you’re a Ren’Dorei? I’m jealous.” Jackson was unpacking another mound of school work for Stiles, the Ravensholme heir happy to tear through it all. Cora had come down into the C&C, wandering through, and had commented that it seemed unfair that Stiles could just tear through the work like it was easy.

“That’s because it is,” he’d remarked. Jackson was again bemoaning the fact that he’d been “cursed” to be a shifter, Ethan growling at him, though Jackson ignored him. 

“I think growing armor is a rather useful talent. After being shot so many times I wouldn’t find it a hindrance,” said Reddington as he entered. It was Tuesday, and he and Lady Rosamund were on their way to Sacramento, where he’d then go by car to San Francisco and head by ship to Mogadishu. He leant down, depositing yet another card and gift from a well wisher. 

“Christ, Stilinski, what does that make,” Jackson started agog. 

“Two hundred and thirty six. Counted them myself.” Lydia strut in, today’s ensemble a white blouse, jeans, and high heeled brown leather boots, and of course a matching purse. She’d been changing outfits ten times a day, which meant she was stressed. Her reaction to Stiles’ drug use had been less than stellar. Especially when he revealed it was because he was producing slick due to an attraction to Derek. “Out, let Stiles say goodbye to Reddington in peace.” Stiles sighed. Reddington gave him a rare, genuine smile. 

“You’ll have to have it out with her.” Stiles nodded, knowing she needed to have a proper screaming at him, before she’d feel better. Reddington sat down and took his nephew’s hands. “I’m guessing” he said, “you still won’t let us know what your mother had to say?” He asked, again, hopeful. Stiles shook his head no.

“It was from one leader of Ravensholme to the next. Need to know.” Raymond sighed. “But,” Raymond turned back to him, “I do love you. And I know I can come to you, whenever I need to.”

“Or want to,” Reddington added, Stiles nodding, giving one of his a tad more frequent smiles. They hugged, tightly, before Reddington leaned back and said goodbye. Dembe clapped him on the shoulder and Mr. Kaplan gave him two kisses on the cheek, both leaving with him. Lady Rosamund had already said her goodbyes, Mary, Tom, and Matthew leaving the day after tomorrow. They were all moving on, knowing that they’d be called in if needed. Stiles' friends rejoined him, Lydia imploring him to open the gifts. 

The story that had been given was that Stiles’ had been attacked by a Nogitsune, but had survived the encounter. It was true, and The Verse’s holonet was like a buzzing hive with the news, but only those with proper clearance knew the truth. The nemeton, the focal point for the Preserves power, had been located on a small island in a pool in the middle of the Preserve. It was, funny enough, called the Pool of the Forest Spirit, though nobody knew who or what that was. A sensor grid dedicated to the pool and the nemeton had been erected. It’d never catch them unawares again. Yet Stiles felt his skin crawl, again. Derek had practically avoided him since he awoke, yet he found the one person he wanted to speak to was the green eyed man. 

He finished another batch of homework, Jackson putting it away. Laura Hale walked in. Stiles had been surprised at the new addition. She’d apologized to Stiles profusely, before shocking him by pledging her undying loyalty to Ravensholme. She had done their official oath and everything. He had meant to talk to Talia about it, especially as she was present when Laura did this, smiling with pride. She slammed a book down. “I took this out of my family’s library for some light reading.” Aidan gawked at her.

“This? This is light?” She flipped him off, Lydia standing next to her. 

“Do you know how rare it is? A void mage? Who is a gemini?” She opened up to a massive chart. It was not made of the same material as the rest of the pages, but of bone, she and Lydia moved it around, allowing them to put in Stiles birthdate, and other important information. He aligned directly down the middle. “You’re a dual practitioner, which means you’ll have another natural affinity. Not to mention the element of air, which rules your zodiac. So now we need to see what your water, fire, and earth elements manifest as. Not to mention your guardian.” Stiles snorted.

“It’ll be a raven, for sure.” Lydia nodded at that. Since he led Ravensholme, and his mother’s guardian was a raven, it’d make sense he’d end up with the same familiar. The group waxed and waned about Stiles abilities, wondering what else he’d have an affinity for, before he yawned. He was still exhausted way more easily than before. Lydia ordered everyone out.

Hale House had gone back to...well, normal wasn’t the right word. Derek knew he’d never think of his house in the same way ever again. The rooms had been extended, and on the outside it looked like the house had grown, on its own. On top of that he now knew that beneath him was an entire base, attached to a hangar. The Solarium elevator had been removed, the new elevator sitting beneath the new grand staircase that was in their new front entrance hall. He’d experienced a lot of new things...in a very short time period. When he returned to school, Cora and Isaac and Laura were hard at work spreading a rumor that Stiles’ had come down sick with the flu and his friends rushed him to the hospital because of a high fever. 

Even Scott, who wouldn’t talk or look at him, mumbled that it was true, threatened into submission by Melissa no doubt. That was the other thing. Melissa and Noah had come everyday after work to see Stiles. Noah had barely said a thing, but Stiles answered his few questions, politely, the Sheriff responding in kind. The fight between Derek and Scott had been harder to gloss over, but both boys resolutely refused to mention it, even at lacrosse practice, treating each other professionally. “Well that’s boring,” said Coach Finstock after watching the two of them. “I’d have liked some after class amusement.” 

Derek found himself doing homework in his new bedroom. It was a large affair with a new, antique four poster bed, massive desk, and walk-in closet. The house seemed to have taken on the standard Ravensholme color motif. The flag of the faction even hung behind his mother’s desk now, an orthogonal in black and blood red, a white circle in the center with a black raven with flame like wings. His bedspread was blood red, matching the mahogany wood, with gold designs, hand stitched. A knock sounded at the door and he looked up, and scowled as Cora marched right in and plopped down on his bed. 

“...Can I help you?” She grunted.

“No, you can help yourself. Go see Stiles. He wants to see you, but won’t say it.” Derek clammed up, like he always did whenever the heir’s name was mentioned. 

“He’s resting. He needs to focus on getting better and -”

“Ohhh My **Fucking** God.” Cora looked to the heavens, rolling her eyes. “You’re really stupid, you know that? Like, dumb. I don’t know what Stiles even sees in you.” She stood, Derek practically growling while gnashing his teeth. “He wants to see you, he asks about you. And you clearly want to see him. Especially since you moan in your sleep about -” Cora dodged the pencil Derek chucked at her, prancing out of his room. The jock rubbed his face with his hands, only to find himself with another visitor. It was Jackson, his bright blue eyes even brighter. He cocked his head. 

“...who is Kate?” Derek stopped dead, his face turning wooden. “You just said Kate, in your mind...who is Kate...and why does she matter in regard to wanting to see Stiles…”

Derek stood, pushed Jackson out of his room, and slammed the door in his face. The blue eyed boy blinked owlishly. “Huh...great…more drama.” He sighed, knowing he needed to find Lydia and tell her. 

**______________________________**

Phoenix Squadron gathered around Stiles’ bedside, eager when he finally agreed to give them all of the details of his sojourn in the Spirit Realm. They all rolled their eyes and waved him off when he reminded them there were multiple spirit realms, hells, and more. They listened eagerly as he described how his mother’s resting in the Preserve had awoken the nogitsune, how it had used the collective grief of her death, caused by the operatives in the area, to break it’s bonds ever so slightly, enough to slip out. 

“So it then sought out the greatest source of power, which was also the greatest source of...grief...me.” Stiles didn’t look at his compatriots, feeling ashamed. 

“Stop it.” He looked up, slowly. It was Aidan. “You’re feeling guilty. Stop it. You have nothing to feel guilty about.” The muscular teen walked around and grabbed him by his shoulders. “You hae nothing to be sorry for.” Stiles tried to protest but Lydia cut him off.

“You lost your mom, Stiles. That would destroy most people. And considering who she was it’s amazing it didn’t destroy you.” Lydia’s eyes were glassy, thick with tears that didn’t fall. Jackson crawled right into the bed, and wrapped his arms around Stiles. 

“It tried to destroy you, suck you dry of your power. Yet you’re still here, you’re still our leader...you’re still our Stiles.” The tears flowed freely for him now, as his friends all wrapped their arms around him, their squadron, united in celebration, and now in grief. After a while they all pulled back, laughing, wiping their eyes. Ethan spoke up.

“What exactly happened to the nogitsune’s body?” Stile’s explained how his mother believed the Goddess Elune had been kind enough to raise the man’s spirit. He then asked after the nogitsune itself. At the end of Stiles’ explanation of how he broke the creatures next after reducing it to its weakest form Ethan raised an eyebrow and sighed. “Great, you’re here not even four months and you get mauled by a rodent. This place is horrible.”

Jackson hummed in agreement as he leant against his boyfriends side. “Speaking of horrible,” they all groaned.

“Can’t this wait a day or two before we jump into the next thing?” Jackson ignored his future brother-in-law and looked at Stiles. 

“Who is Kate?”

**______________________________**

Stiles got out of the car, not really believing it was only a week after he’d been trapped in the Spirit World, conversing with his mother, and then returned to the world of the living. He still kept what was said between them close to his chest. The story that had been spun for Scott and Isaac was that Stiles was exhausted and that on top of it all, he’d ended up with the flu and that Talia Hale had offered to care for him, as she was a friend of his mothers and Stiles and his father were having issues. Melissa had made it her duty to sell the story, while still coming to grips with the fact that Noah had once been involved with an interstellar warlord who doubled as an international criminal on Earth to defend the planet from other interstellar threats, and whose child was now her responsibility. On top of that, finding out that magic was real truly didn’t help the situation. In the words of Lady Rosamund, though, she had risen to the occasion splendidly. 

Stiles stood, somewhat annoyed he still had to rely on a cane. He was still too tired, but his vanity made him happy it was black maple wood with a white ivory handle in the shape of a raven. Small victories. He walked up the drive, the door to the house flying open, Melissa greeting him with a cup of chamomile tea. He nodded at her, trying to be a tad kinder, at his own mother’s insistence. He walked through the door, taking a sip. Melissa jumped right in, knowing that a “welcome home” wouldn’t be welcome. “Now, your father is in the living room. I know you asked to speak in private. Also, we have had a few modifications to the house made. So it’ll be easier for you.” She then walked off. 

**_Stiles - ‘Have to hand it to her, she’s catching on.’_ **

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - ‘I rather agree sir, plus you’ll enjoy the modifications to the bedroom that she’s overseen.’_ **

Stiles decided against commenting. He walked into the living room, Noah sitting down, a cup of coffee in his hands. He waited patiently as Stiles settled down. They quietly drank their drinks as the silence grew more and more pregnant. Stiles found that his ability to be patient had returned, somewhat, but he knew it’d be some time until he was fully himself. Stiles observed Noah, the man clutched his mug hard, as if he was trying to physically imprint his problems in the ceramic. Melissa’s voice popped up from the other room. “Noah Stilinski, why don’t I hear any talking?” He sighed heavily, and rubbed his face before looking at Stiles. 

“I don’t know where to start.” Stiles released his own sigh. 

“When we last spoke like this you accused my mother of poisoning me against you.” Noah hung his head.

“I was wrong to say that. I spoke in anger and -”

“You often speak to me in anger. You passed on the blame, from her to me.” Noah stopped, the vein in his temple throbbing. Stiles paused, before pushing forward. “Why? Why blame me? Aren’t I...aren’t I your son?” Noah swallowed, surprised to find a lump in his throat. 

“I...I did pass the blame on to you. And that’s wrong of me. And I’m -”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. You won’t mean it, not yet.” Noah looked up, ready to retort, but stopped upon seeing Stiles face. For the first time, he saw it there. He saw that Stiles felt pain. And he had caused it. Noah looked back down. He and Melissa had spoken at length about all of this. She’d taken everything in stride, but her anger with him was palpable. He’d spent the last few nights sleeping in the guest bedroom.

“I gather this has caused some marital...discord, for you two?” Noah looked up. Stiles' face was apologetic, contrite even. He slowly nodded. 

“Yes, you could say that,” he gave his son a rueful smile, Stiles returning it was a nod. 

“I’ll...speak to her,” he waved out his hands, “I know that this life can be...stressful.” Noah straight up laughed, the sound echoing, real. Stiles blinked owlishly, not entirely sure how to respond. 

“It is definitely stressful.” Noah sat back, silence reigning once again. Noah worked up the gumption though, “how’s...or how...was your mom?” Stiles looked at him, unsure of what answer to give, but settled on the truth. He explained that her soul was resting peacefully now that the evil creature, the nogitsune, was gone, destroyed, by his own hand. Noah nodded. “Talia told me all about that. She said, you, um,” he rubbed his neck, but forged ahead, “know what kind of magic you have?” Stiles nodded and explained how he was a member of the Ren’dorei, the children of the void, and that he’d be undergoing proper training. “Congratulations?” Stiles, gave him a small smile, a genuine one.

“Thanks.”

Silence grew again, but it was Stiles who broke it this time. “What’s going on here? How is Isaac...and Scott,” he ground out the last name, trying to remind himself that Melissa, Scott’s mother, had been kind to him. Noah regarded him, deciding to tell him the truth. 

“Scott isn’t happy with us right now. He’s been grounded, plus pretty much all of his privileges are gone. He’s not allowed to go anywhere other than school, and we took away his television, his computer is only to be used for school work afterschool.” Stiles held up a hand, stopping him.

“I appreciate that he’s being punished, but that’s not what I meant.” Noah stopped and thought, before nodding slowly. 

“He’s...coming to terms, I think…” Stiles stared straight at him. 

“That he’s a bully. And that you allowed it to flourish.”

**______________________________**

Stiles’ comment had been like a sharp punch to Noah’s gut, but he knew it was true. After that not much was said, other than the two of them agreeing to try harder. He departed after that, exhausted from the brief, twenty minute conversation. Stiles was surprised by the undetectable extension charm that had been used to turn a rarely used hall closet into an elevator, but grateful that it took him up to the third floor, versus him climbing all of those stairs. Deimos greeted him happily. His room had changed. The windows were wider, more expansive, and a balcony with a trellis had been installed off the side. The walls had a fresh coat of paint, a cool, pale yellow that brightened it up. The baroque fixtures were gone, replaced with furniture that matched the cream and gold partition curtain. The floors were now dark hardwood.

**_‘Roscoe wasn’t wrong...she did well. Melissa had decorated the room in his mother’s personal favorite style, french country.’_ **Stiles retired to his bath, content to soak in the honeysuckle and lavender milk wash, fresh water pouring from the raven shaped wall spigot every thirty minutes as the tub drained the “dirty” water. A sending appeared, dressed in a black and green outfit that did not match the color scheme at all. Stiles was surprised to realize it was the green of the sheriff’s department, but decided to not comment. These sendings were new, and staffed to the McCall-Stilinski household. He dried off after two hours, the sendings helping him, more than was necessary. He settled into bed and a sending brought him a lunch tray and Deimos warmed his feet. 

While he enjoyed the peace and quiet, he found himself missing his friends, after being lost in the nether realms. So he wasn’t surprised when the balcony doors opened and Phoenix Squadron, plus Corey, entered quietly. They didn’t even say a word, merely gathered on the bed or around it, as Lydia turned on a movie. Stiles felt himself grow content as the warmth of his friends surrounded him. 

**______________________________**

Stiles arrived at school the next day, prepared for a short week. They only had classes for Monday and Tuesdays, having off the Wednesday before and the Friday after Thanksgiving. He was unsure of what exactly would be going on for the holiday. Talia’s offer still stood, of course, and he knew Phoenix Squadron would be spending it at Derek’s. He was also prepared to win the truth out of Corey. Aidan’s report was damning, but he’d have to be careful. The boy was skittish as is, getting in trouble as his parents noticed his long absences more.

He pretended to let Aidan drape his arm along his shoulder, the truth being that he was still incredibly weak. His friends dropped him at his homeroom, prepared to be right there to help “direct” him to English. As he sat there, going over reports on his phone, a shadow fell over him. He looked up. Vernon Boyd held out a paper cup, a tea tag reading _‘Chamomile’_ visible on the side. “Derek told me you had had the flu. This always helps me when sick. And I’m sorry for the way you’ve been treated since you arrived.” Boyd’s voice was rich and deep, the voice of a lounge singer. Stiles looked at him, and saw nothing but kindness. 

He nodded, taking the tea. “Thank you...this is very kind of you.” The man, clearly a man of few words, nodded and walked away. Stiles wondered after him, but stopped wondering as two people appeared in the doorway, both wearing earpieces. 

**_Stiles - Roscoe?_ **

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - Yes, sir?_ **

**_Stiles - Why is Ayo here?_ **

Roscoe refused to respond, even when Stiles made his usual bevy of, baseless, threats. He guessed he’d have to follow through on one, to make it known to that damn computer system that he was serious. His homeroom teacher, whose name he’d never really bothered to learn, waved Stiles forward, but Ayo stopped the person and walked back to Stiles, aware that they were being watched. She bowed her head. “Ayo...please tell me you’re delivering a message.” She smiled.

“Afraid not, Young Master.” She held out a panic button, Stiles staring at the thing like it was going to bite him.

“I have Phoenix Squadron though, they can -” 

“They are not enough. You need a proper security detail. I promise we will be as inconspicuous as possible.” She waved over at the bald, handsome man by the doorway. It was Cotyar, he waved and smiled, wearing a sober suit and tie, earpiece evident. Stiles swallowed his pride, though internally he rolled his eyes at the word inconspicuous, and took the panic button, Ayo nodding and leaving. Inconspicuous was not Ravenholme’s strong suit. Soon enough the bell rang, Lydia flouncing in and seizing him by the arm, letting him surreptitiously lean on her. The students, who already parted for Stiles, and certainly for Lydia, now watched with interest as the two bodyguards followed them to AP English. Mrs. Ramsay smiled and welcomed Stiles back, extolling and scolding him at the same time for how quickly he got his work done, but insisting that he should rest. Stiles smiled out for the day, but he thanked her genuinely. He was a little surprised that she greeted Ayo so warmly, even Cotyar. 

“Even I have secrets Mr. Stilinski,” she said with a wink, before directing him inside. Lydia settled him in, gave him a kiss on the cheek and left. He watched her go, shaking his head. He really did need to have a one-on-one with her...and soon. He sipped his chamomile tea as the other students came in, staring back at him when they thought he couldn’t tell, darting away when he looked up. 

“Stiles!” He looked up. Allison Argent and Eric Reyes smiled at him. He could sense the genuineness. After Boyd this morning he wasn’t exactly ready for more odd switches in behavior.

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - Misses Argent and Reyes have always been kind to you_ **

**_Stiles - Let’s talk about how you knew I was being assigned a security detail and neglected to mention it_ **

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - I don’t know what you’re talking about._ **

Roscoe was smug. He greeted the two ladies and thanked them for their well wishes. He fed the lie that’d been concocted, telling them it was a terrible case of the flu and that he had just thought it was a cold that would pass, and then told them, seriously, but with a jovial voice, to get their flu shots. They all conversed a little more, but the girls eventually took their seats. Stiles was anxious. He’d not seen Derek since the day after their return from the Spirit World and was anxious to see him, to talk about their combined ordeal. 

Just as the bell was about to ring, he arrived. Stiles stopped dead. Derek looked like he hadn’t slept in days, dark bags underneath his eyes...but there was something about him. His muscles seemed bigger, his clothes a little tighter, his stubble was rougher, and his tired eyes were greener. He walked in, not looking at Stiles, before slowly reaching the heir’s gaze. He stopped, noticing the tea that he was drinking. Stiles smiled, because clutched in Derek’s hands were two lattes. 

Without realizing the whole class was watching, Stiles slowly began to smile, and reached out for once. Derek nodded to his tea. “I drank it already.” Slowly, the grizzled man put the latte into Stiles hands. 

**______________________________**

Cotyar laughed and Ayo shook her head smiling. “When are those two going to get a move on,” he asked out loud. She laughed, agreeing. She got a sitrep from everyone. Thankfully Stiles hadn’t noticed that it wasn’t a small detail. The week in which he’d been gone they’d transformed the high school into their own base. Even some of the trees had been replaced with replicas, their branches now holding cameras and listening devices, some being unique alien trees from offworld that could listen in, disguised with solid holograph tech. Every corridor had a dimensional doorway that would lead to battalions of Horla and Krells and Hish, that would rise at the first sign of danger. 

Phoenix Squadron had gladly accepted the help. They knew they’d have had trouble with a nogitsune on their own and didn’t want a single more thing to get through. “We just need to get through to tomorrow afternoon, and then it’s the holiday.” Cotyar nodded at his compatriot. 

**______________________________**

Derek wasn’t very talkative that day, but it was primarily a lecture and class discussion, both he and Stiles participated at various points, but the Ravensholme heir was content to listen, too tired to really be able to participate. He felt his skin crawl, as Derek looked at him out of the corner of his eyes every two minutes or so. He finally worked up the courage. He wrote him a note.

_Where have you been? It’s been a week since our return and this is the first I’ve seen you._

Derek read the note and scowled, his normal everyday look it seemed. He wrote and surreptitiously handed the note back when Mrs. Ramday wasn’t looking. 

_I’ve been around. And you saw me the day after you woke up. I didn’t want to bother you. You needed rest. Still need rest._

Stiles felt his frustration rise. Derek was being so thick headed. 

_We need to talk about what happened_

It was Derek’s turn to feel frustrated. 

_What’s there to talk about? You’re safe. That’s all that matters._

Stiles thought he was going to stroke out. He scribbled back furiously. 

_Derek, you helped save my life, from an ancient evil that was literally sucking me dry. On top of that you met my mother, or her soul, but still...a lot to unpack there, don’t you think, buddy?_

Before Derek could write back a response, the bell rang. Instead of darting out, like Stiles thought he would, Derek leaned over and took Stile’s backpack, putting his things inside, before shouldering it with his own, and held out his arm so Stiles could steady himself getting up. Stiles was shocked, but grateful, though he decided to be a little shit and deliberately squeezed Derek’s considerable bicep, getting a glare in return as color filled Derek’s cheeks. 

As they walked towards the door, Stiles moving extra slow, Mrs. Ramsay spoke up from where she sat at her desk getting ready for the next class. “You two should just exchange numbers already, that way you don’t have to pass notes back and forth like five year olds.”

Derek walked him to his next class and left without a word. Stiles rolled his eyes, but his phone pinged, an unknown number popping up. He opened it

**Unknown Number - Derek Hale**

**______________________________**

The two days passed quickly, Stiles spending his time not doing homework on bed rest. As Thursday dawned he felt a little more energetic. He stared at himself in the mirror and scowled. He’d lost some definition and definitely lost weight. Yet he wasn’t allowed to workout until he was back to his normal energy levels. It was annoying. Normally he’d get dressed, as it was Thanksgiving. 

Ravensholme didn’t really celebrate Thanksgiving, not the American holiday. Stiles thought it was offensive to Natives, still did. They celebrated with Feast of Good Harvest and the Day of the Pilgrimage Bounty, giving thanks for a bountiful year as they entered into the home stretch, glorifying harvest deities and spirits. Yet today he found himself really just in the mood to be comfortable. He dressed in sweats and a t-shirt and slowly went down the stairs, having the energy to do so. Deimos followed him. He walked into the living room, not surprised to find Isaac watching the coverage before the launch of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. 

He looked up and paused, before smiling. “Morning Stiles...Happy Thanksgiving,” Isaac sounded hopeful, his voice small. Stiles slowly nodded, not smiling, but his voice was kind.

“Happy Thanksgiving Isaac..., may I join you?” Isaac’s grin grew big. 

“Please!” He made room on the couch, Stiles getting comfortable, but he shivered as the morning cold ran through him. He cursed himself for not wearing a sweatshirt. Isaac immediately threw the large blanket that covered him over the both of them. Stiles paused, but nodded his thanks. They sat in companionable silence as Melissa walked in with a cup of coffee. 

“Happy Thanksgiving Stiles.” She greeted him warmly and paused, before he reached out, taking the coffee, and for the first time ever, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Melissa almost seemed ready to cry happy tears. She went back to the kitchen, as she was preparing a feast, but stopped. Noah stood at the doorway, looking at Stiles, a soft smile on his face. She walked up to the man and kissed him. “Baby steps,” she whispered. He smiled at her, wondering how he got so lucky.

As Melissa returned to the kitchen she thought she just might let Noah move back into the bedroom that night. 

**______________________________**

Despite Melissa and Noah wondering to themselves and each other about what Claudia might’ve said to Stiles, the change was remarkable. He even greeted Noah warmly, though not as warmly as Melissa. The three men sat around the couch before Stiles spoke up and asked Melissa if she needed help. She came in wearing an apron. “You, young man, are to remain on that couch. And let Noah help you up the stairs when you want to shower. Isaac, you can listen to the parade from the kitchen, come help me.” Isaac was obedient, though reluctant. Stiles craned his neck. Noah chuckled.

“Do you enjoy cooking,” Stiles nodded, sharing that he loved cooking during that time of year. “Your mother taught me all about the Feast of Good Harvest, and about how today was the Day of the Pilgrimage Bounty. Man,” he chuckled, “I’d never been so full in my life.” He stopped, as Stiles hadn’t made a sound. His expression was far off, away. His eyes grew glassy. “Stiles, what’s wrong? Did I say something?” Stiles breathed out. 

“No, it’s just…” He looked away, before looking back at the television. “This is...the first...without her…” Noah got out of his armchair and sat next to Stiles, finding himself wanting to hug the young man, but he knew that it’d probably be too much for him. He paused, then slowly laid his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, and gripped hard. The tears began to fall, freely as Stiles silently wept. 

“You know...when I heard that she’d died...I grieved that we hadn’t ever had a chance to clear the air...I miss her too, Stiles. Every day.” Slowly he reached up, and gripped Noah’s hand, hard, the two Stilinski men, sharing the burden of their grief.

Scott stood at the top of the stairs, listening in. He was angry at first, for Stiles horning in on his dad, but stopped, as he heard Stiles begin to cry, and then his dad’s confession. He stopped, for a second, and then pulled out his phone, and texted Allison

**Scott - My dad says he misses Stiles mom**

**Allison - I’m sure he does, especially today. I bet it’s even worse for Stiles :(**

Scott scowled. What the fuck could Allison be talking about he wondered. Worse how?

**Scott - Worse how? Also, if my dad misses Stiles mom isn’t that wrong? He’s married to my mom.**

To Scott’s surprise, Allison called him. He went back to his room. “Hey babe, Happy Thanksgiv-”

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me for a moment.” Scott’s eyes went wide as Allison laid into him. “This is the first Thanksgiving without his mom, Scott. Stiles mom is dead. This is the first of everything without her. Of course he’s upset, how would you feel if your mom suddenly died and left you alone in the world?” Scott stopped, his heart dropping into his stomach as he thought of Melissa McCall, his rock, no longer being around. “What’s more, his father and his mother never had a chance to clear the air. Your dad is living with the guilt of never having been able to fix things.” Scott interjected, angry.

“Fix things? That would mean -”

“You stupid, pigheaded, braindead jock!” Scott stopped. Allison was yelling and she’d never spoken to him like this before. “That doesn’t mean he’d leave your mom for Stiles mom! This isn’t a competition!” The line went silent as Allison regained her composure. She sighed. “Scott, I love you. However you’ve let your fears and anxieties about this run ragged over everyone and it’s tiresome. Stiles is hurting, bad. He’s experiencing a pain the likes of which we don’t know about and shouldn’t know about until we are older. He’s hurting and the only thing you can do is think about yourself?...I love you, but I need to seriously think about if I want to be with someone who is like that.” Scott’s mouth hung open. Allison sighed again. “I’ve got to go, my aunt is visiting and she’s a pain.” She hung up.

Scott stood there, in his room, utterly unsure of what just happened. 

**______________________________**

**Derek - You have a great ass**

Stiles eyes widened as he read the text. He looked at the time. It was only 11am, Scott had yet to come down, probably sleeping in, which was fine by Stiles. The house was filled with the smells of cooking, and Melissa had lit some scented candles, noting that she always smelled fall scents coming from Stiles' room. 

**Stiles - Thanks...not that I don’t appreciate the compliment regarding my best assets (see what I did there)...isn’t it a little too early to be drinking?**

**Derek - Sorry, that was Cora. She stole my phone. I’m not drinking. I’d never have pegged you to make corny jokes.**

**Stiles - You haven’t pegged me at all, and won’t, since there’s no need for you to wear a strap on**

Before Derek could respond, which according to the little bubbles he was typing, a text came in from Lydia.

**Lydia - A) I changed everyone’s names back to normal B) Why is Derek blushing like a schoolgirl? Did you say something naughty?**

**Stiles - A) Thanks, the boys will be pissed which is just icing on the cake and B) apparently Cora stole his phone and started a sexual conversation that I’ve deliberately egged on. How’re the Hales?**

**Lydia - It’s nice, they’re a big family, Aidan is vibing with all of the wolves. There are two thirty pound turkeys. I expect there won’t be leftovers.**

Derek’s text came through.

**Derek - Isn’t it a little too early for sex jokes? Besides, you should be asleep, resting. You know what bedrest is right? The thing Doctor Bashir ordered you on?**

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh. He and Derek bantered back and forth until the scowling teen, for Stiles had no doubt he was scowling, was called in to help his mother. 

**Stiles - Don’t be such a grouch, go help her**

**Derek - I’m not a grouch**

**Stiles - Debbie Downer?**

**Derek - Absolutely not**

**Stiles - Sourpuss?**

**Derek - Stiles**

**Stiles - Derek**

Stiles stopped, an evil grin overcoming his face. 

**Stiles - Don’t be such a sourwolf**

Lydia watched as Derek couldn't resist it. Whatever Stiles had texted him made him burst out laughing, tears falling out of the corners of his eyes. She took a photo and sent it to Stiles.

**Lydia - Whatever you said had an effect ;)**

**______________________________**

The one sore spot for Thanksgiving, beyond his mother’s death, was Corey. Stiles found himself thinking of the boy as he enjoyed the meal, the McCall-Stilinski’s being joined by Jordan Parrish, his father’s Undersheriff, Tara, the Boyds, who had greeted Stiles warmly and said, “Vernon has told us all about you.” Erica Reyes and her parents rounded out the group, Mrs. Reyes and Boyd being close with Melissa, apparently. 

Stiles politely fielded several questions, and Erica, Boyd, and Isaac all included him in their conversation. Scott, who had appeared at noon, was somewhat subdued, but he discussed lacrosse with everyone, a main topic, and didn’t go out of his way to be mean to Stiles, which was new. Stiles kept thinking back to Corey though. He’d sent him a good morning text and holiday greeting, getting perfunctory ones in return. Aidan had shared his suspicions with all of them.

_“It looks normal, but I could smell it. That place is covered in a web of fear and shame.”_

“What was that?” Stiles turned, Isaac looking at him. 

“Nothing, just thinking out loud. Pass the stuffing please.” As they moved on to dessert, he shot out a text.

**Stiles - Escape tonight, I’ll be outside your house**

**Corey - That’s not a good idea, you need to rest**

Stiles scowled. He was not in a mood to be denied.

**Stiles - That was an order**

He put his phone away, cognizant that he was being rude. He sat in the living room, the men watching football, which he’d no interest in. He enjoyed his coffee, but his mind was off on Corey Bryant, wondering what secrets he was hiding. 

**______________________________**

The SUV idled by a poplar tree, Stiles sitting in the back. The door opened, Corey popping in. He looked withdrawn, subdued. “I don’t have a ton of time.” He gave Stiles an utterly fake smile. Stiles stared at him, hard. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were being abused?” Corey’s expression was of shock, but Stiles could see the truth in his eyes. Stiles shook his head, looking away. “Corey...why didn’t you tell me?” He turned back, the boy had clammed up, his hand on the door handle. It was a defensive posture, like he was preparing to run, or to take the least amount of damage as possible. Corey looked away, out of the tinted window.

“It’s...it’s not a big deal Stiles. My dad just….he slaps me occasionally when he doesn’t like what I’ve done or if I’m not home when he wants and,” he was cut off by Stiles getting out of the car, leaning heavily on his cane as he moved briskly towards Corey’s house. His eyes had gone pitch black and his expression was murderous. Before Corey could reach him Cotyar grabbed him by the shoulder. He leaned down.

“I’m right there with you, Your Excellency, but this won’t help Corey.” The sophomore caught up to them, pleasing with Stiles. Cotyar hushed him, reassuring him that Stiles wouldn’t do anything rash, as the heir’s eyes returned to their normal color. He turned to Corey. 

“I want a full explanation for this on Monday.” He stomped back to the car, feeling his energy draining, before he stopped, pinching his nose. He turned back, Corey’s eyes were wet and he was hunched in on himself. He seized the boy and pulled him into a tight embrace. “You don’t deserve to be treated like this. You deserve to be treated well. No child should be struck by a parent. An angry voice called out for Corey. They were hidden by the shadows, so Mr. Bryant couldn’t see Stiles scowl as he saw the outline of the man who had hurt his friend, who had struck his own son. “Go, before you get in more trouble.”

Corey gave him a small watery smile before running back. Stiles looked at Cotyar. “Get me Okoye.”

**______________________________**

That Monday, December 2, marked the first time Stiles was able to walk without assistance, his body’s energies returning to normal. He was by no means as powerful as before, but slowly and surely he was making leaps and bounds. He’d spent the rest of the break relaxing, catching up on faction business he’d missed, and was finally able to workout again. The surprise though, had been the constant texting with Derek. That and the surprise when he’d gone downstairs Saturday morning, to find Scott in the kitchen, who willingly poured him a mug of coffee, silently pushing it towards him before leaving the room. Stiles got over his shock, licked his finger, wet the rim of the mug, flicked it, and blew. The liquid glowed bright white for a second. Scott hadn’t done anything, it was just coffee. 

He walked into the school, wearing one of his usual all black outfits. He’d caused a stir by arriving in his car, but riding in the backseat, with a chauffeur stepping out to open his door. He’d received a shock that morning upon encountering a bald chauffeur downstairs, smiling at him. “Good morning sir.” Stiles had chuckled, getting over his shock.

“Good morning, Roscoe. Driving yourself today?” 

So here he was, walking through the halls, Cotyar and Ayo behind him as usual. He stopped by his locker, happy to see Jackson and Ethan. He kissed them both. “How was London?” Jackson and Ethan smiled. They had made London their primary residence and loved when they could escape, spending the holidays alone. They walked Stiles to his homeroom, only to stop. Corey stood waiting for them. He looked upset, but also sheepish. Stiles waved them off. 

“Corey?” The younger man looked down at his feet. “Hey...come on now,” he lifted his face up. “Whatever it is you can tell me.” Corey slowly nodded. He tugged up his shirt, ever so slightly. Ayo cursed in xhosa, Cotyar just stared, his face turning more red as his anger grew. Corey’s side was covered in an ugly black and blue mark, accompanied with angry red welts, from what looked like a belt. Stiles activated his HUD and immediately took photos. 

He sent Corey with an escort, off to class. He hadn’t told the others. He’d wait till lunch. He sat in his homeroom, using his cerebral implants, subcutaneous transceiver, and mind to contact everyone he’d need to. It was agreed, universally. Corey was not going back home. Ever again. Okoye tasked forced to watch Mr. Bryant and the house, compiling evidence through observations as they went. The bell rang and Stiles barely remembered to walk to English, two lattes clutched in his hands. He set Derek’s down. “Stiles...Stiles...Stiles…” Derek was waving in his face. He jerked back, shaking his head. 

Derek was in a black sweater and tan jeans, ends scratched up around giant timberland work boots. He looked hot. What was most surprising though, were the glasses. Derek wore glasses. Stiles' body became flush with arousal, but he didn’t produce slick. He was happy to say that as he’d begun therapy, begun discussing his feelings, and without the nogitsune squatting inside him like a toad, he was able to control his urges more. It had only been a few days, but he already felt better. “What?” Derek scowled, feeling self conscious. Stiles coughed, blushing, which piqued Derek’s interest. 

“You...you look good.” It was Derek’s turn to blush. He grumbled. “What was that?”

“Um...thank you.” Mrs. Ramsay called attention, welcoming everyone back. 

“Alright Stiles, what is it,” Lydia sat down, waving to everyone to sit. Without ceremony he sent the photos around, the ones he’d taken of Corey. The twins growled, Jackson swore explosively, and Lydia looked sick to her stomach. Aidan stood, ready to shift, find Mr. Bryant, and kill him. Ayo stepped out from the bookcases, her spear fully elongated.

“Sit.” He growled at her. “Sit, or I will make you sit.” Lydia stood and put a hand on her boyfriend’s arm.

“We need to keep a cool head about this.” Aidan exploded. 

“Keep a cool head!? We almost lose Stiles to a nogitsune and now we might lose Corey to a child abuser!? I can't believe we are keeping cool heads about this. We are Ravensholme!” Before he could say another word, his voice cut off, and he gagged. His face grew blue, as he levitated off the floor. Stiles’ hand was clenched as he raised it to eye level. Aidan looked at him. 

“Calm. Down.” He released his grip and Aidan fell to the ground, coughing. “Lydia is right. The best way to handle this is to use our intellect. We can’t go disappearing bodies. There are proper ways to do this.” Corey didn’t join them, Stiles had sent him to rest in the car outside. It seemed he hadn’t slept. In the library alcove his friends plotted on how to save his life. 

At the end of the day, he received a text from Talia Hale. 

**Talia - Please come to the office.**

He arrived to find his father and Jordan Parrish, the school nurse, and Talia Hale, all gathered in Gerard Argents office. Stiles greeted everyone and stood next to his father. Gerard seemed wildly uncomfortable. “Stiles...it seems the school nurse received some photographs you took...of Corey Bryant. She inspected him and then informed me of what she found. I called your father.” He nodded at Sheriff Stilinski. Jordan stepped forward. 

“Stiles we need to ask you some questions

**______________________________**

From fighting interstellar battles with fleets of Basestars and Scythe-class capital ships, to almost having his soul sucked out by a nogitsune, Stiles never thought it’d all be as mentally draining as answering questions about his friend being abused by his own father. He lay in the tub, the water a minty milk green, soft pearly fluorescent bubbles floating around him, tiny little sparks inside giving the room an ambient light. Delicate notes could be heard throughout the bathroom, music from Eversong Woods that he loved dearly. 

He stood, the water rushing down his body. He was already regaining definition, filling out once more. He was glad his ass was still as plump as ever. As he reached for the soft, fluffy, towel, the door banged open. “Stiles I -” Derek Hale’s eyes wet wide and his cheeks flushed as he beheld Stiles, in all is naked glory. Stiles looked at him, also wide eyed, also blushing, glad he’d turned away, but this gave Derek full view of his ass...in a way he hadn’t seen since Halloween. 

It was Friday, the week had passed since the revelations regarding Corey. Needless to say he’d been placed in the custody of the state. Corey’s father had been none too happy about that, causing a scene when deputies arrived at his house to arrest him for child abuse. Surprisingly, Corey was put into the care of Mrs. Ramsay, though only a select few knew the truth of Stiles pulling the strings on that. Now, after a week of insanity, Stiles was rather enjoying the peace and quiet of his bath. Derek looked like a codfish, as Lydia would say, he quickly turned away and walked out of the bathroom. Stiles sighed and wrapped the towel around himself. He walked back into his bedroom, raising an eyebrow at Deimos. “I’ll deal with you later, traitor.” Deimos laughed. Derek resolutely kept his back to him. 

“Derek, turn around.” Derek did, slowly, blushing again as he saw the towel low around Stiles hips. Stiles proceeded to open his armoire, looking for an outfit. “You must have a reason for being here. You’ve never been in my room before...have you ever been to my house before?” Derek took his eyes off of the water droplet that fell down Stiles chest, and held his hands in front of him, though he was so well endowed Stiles could clearly see that he was hard. 

He cleared his throat, answering in his gruff voice. “Yes, I’ve been here before...never in here though.” He looked around before looking back, and choked. Stiles held a black jockstrap in his hands, clearly he’d be wearing it. Derek felt like he was going to have a heart attack. Stiles thought back to the conversations he’d been having with Jackson.

_“Be bold, Stiles. We’ve never been shy or timid.”_

Jackson was right, Stiles was no shrinking violet. He turned and whipped off the towel, Derek releasing an odd gurgled sound. He looked to the ceiling as Stiles put on the jockstrap and his jeans, jumping up slightly to get it over the prodigious bump that was his ass. “What brings you here now?” Stiles shrugged on a tight fitting sweater that showed off his pecs and arms. Derek shifted, slowly looking down. He was torn on whether or not he wanted Stiles in clothes or not, but he cleared his throat. 

“My mother...told me about Corey and she -” Stiles cut him off.

“You came over to talk to me about Corey?” Stiles' head was cocked to the side. 

“You came here to talk about Corey?” Stiles wasn’t exactly incredulous, but he found it tough to think Derek would be over there to talk about Corey.

“No, I…, that is…” Derek groaned, rubbing his eyes, before telling him. “I came here to see you. To talk to you.” Derek’s gruff voice was softer than usual. Stiles paused before asking him.

“Why?” Derek slowly looked up, spreading his hands.

“We’ve been so wrapped up in school, and now this stuff with Corey that…” Derek shrugged. Stiles nodded, he couldn’t help but agree with him. “My mother is here, having coffee with Melissa. I think she made me come here.” Stiles smirked, nodding. 

“Ravensholme has always had women who are characters, who don’t often suffer fools easily.” Derek huffed out a laugh. That sounded like his mother, certainly. They stood there, somewhat awkward, before Stiles decided. “I do think we’ve needed to talk, but the constant issues, both at school and work…” Derek nodded. They both heard a knock at the door, Deimos moving to open the door. Isaac stood there, looking surprised at seeing Derek, before piping up at Stiles inquiry as to what Isaac needed. 

“The Christmas Village opens tonight. We’re all going to go,” he gestured at Derek and behind him, indicating there would be others. “Would you like to come?” Stiles paused before he remembered the urgent messages that required his attention. He’d been delivered a nasty pile of post that afternoon. He paused and before he could, politely, turn down the offer, Derek spoke up.

“You should come.” He looked at Derek, the man’s blush getting deeper as he beheld Stiles’ full gaze. Stiles felt himself unwilling to say no. Slowly he nodded yes, turning to Isaac and told him he’d come. He asked him to inform Melissa, and ergo Talia as she was in the same room. It’d allow security to secure the perimeter now. Isaac smiled and left, telling him they’d be leaving at five thirty, it was three now. Stiles looked at Derek.

“If I want to go I’d better get some work done.” Derek nodded, turning to leave, but Stiles' voice stopped him. “Derek...were you going to invite me to the festival?” Derek grumbled something and left the room. Deimos wheezing laughter caught Stiles ears. He laughed with his dog. He sent a chat to the group text as he slid open the first telegram, scowling as he read the opening lines. More trouble with the Rhen Var contract. 

**Stiles - Somehow Derek was convinced to ask me to some Christmas Village thing so we could finally have a long overdue talk**

He was surprised when it was Corey, added to the chat after the debacle of the week, who responded.

**Corey - I think it was Cora. She’s been bugging him about and saying he needs to “get his head out of his ass.”**

**Jackson - That certainly sounds like the younger Hale daughter. I wouldn’t want to meet her in a dark alley**

**Aidan - I thought you liked dark alleys *laughing face***

**Jackson - Only when it’s with your brother and he’s balls deep inside of me *winking face with tongue* *smiling face with horns***

**Lydia - Alright that’s enough of that. Everyone, be ready to go by 5.**

Stiles sighed. Even though Lydia was literally in a hidden alcove attached to his room, the gulf between them had widened. She refused to have it out with him, but it was clear she was a pressure cooker and that the top would blow soon enough. He put his phone down, intent on getting through as much work as possible, saving his problems with Lydia for another day. 

At four forty five, Corey told them he’d be begging off, content to hang out with Cora instead. They didn’t argue. Beacon Hills was a rumor mill and already word had gotten out surrounding the Bryants. He stretched and stood, feeling more content that he’d been able to get as much done as possible. He waved his hand, the prepared messages flying upwards and away, while his communication’s apparatus sent off every message he’d prepared through the holonet, many of them video messages. 

He looked in the mirror and decided to put on some makeup and let his magic seep into his eyes. He stepped back and nodded. He looked at the coats he could wear, before surprising himself and choosing a long, red one. A pop of color every now and again wouldn’t hurt. He pet Deimos, saying goodbye.

**_Stiles - Roscoe, is the car ready?_ **

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - Ready and waiting sir. You may be surprised by your party this evening._ **

Roscoe refused to answer anything else. Stiles walked downstairs, knowing that Lydia would leave by way of the tree and pretend to meet up with everyone there. There was quite a crowd at his house, many of them jovial. Scott, Boyd, Kira, Isaac, Erica, Allison, Derek, and a few others from the lacrosse team were hanging out in the kitchen as they bundled up. He received several warm greetings, though plenty were pretty closed off to him, unsure of how to treat him still, since Scott had backed off. He also saw that outside his motorcade was idling against the curb, Roscoe in android form, waiting to chauffeur him, Ayo and Cotyar with two massive Cadillac escalades. Melissa walked in.

“I’m so glad you’re joining us, Stiles.” He nodded, giving a small smile. It was amazing to him, For just a few weeks ago he’d never have thought he’d be able to have anything other than contempt if not outright hatred for these people. They all walked outside, Melissa and Allison dividing the kids among her, but she turned and pointed Derek to Stiles’ car. “Why don’t you drive with Stiles, Derek?” Roscoe held open the door. Stiles looked behind him. Derek looked unsure, but it was Cotyar who yelled out.

“We shouldn’t tarry Mr. Hale. Get in.” That drove Derek into action and he walked forward, zipping up his leather jacket, and got into the other side, not really surprised when the door closed of it’s own accord. 

The drive was quiet, Roscoe and Cotyar in the front, Derek and Stiles in the back, an SUV in front na dback of them. Derek was tense, not wanting to say much in front of Stiles...employees? He was surprised when the dark skinned man with scruff spoke up. “What’s going on at Cerador?” Stiles growled, Derek turning to see the young man scowling. 

“It lies near the Passage of Nilor, too near apparently. We’ve reinforced the outer defense systems and a network of defense platforms are being erected.” Cotyar laughed.

“Sounds expensive.” Stiles nodded and turned to look at Derek who looked away. 

“Cerador,” he said slowly, unsure if Derek would be interested, “is a world that lies near the mouth of a hyperspace lane that was recently discovered, the Passage of Nilor, so it’s now a strategic center for commerce and warfare. Ravensholme’s rivals…” he trailed off shrugging. Derek found himself nodding. 

“They want it?” Stiles laughed, a light sound that made the warmth pool in Derek’s stomach, but it was the chauffeur, Roscoe, who answered. 

“That’s putting it mildly.” 

They arrived in town, parking near some Sheriff’s vehicles. Derek made to get out but Stiles put a hand on his arm. He stopped, noticing that Stiles seemed to almost caress the leather. Derek flexed, and Stiles blushed slightly, Derek feeling like there was a beast inside him that howled at the idea of turning Stiles on. “Let them open the doors for us...it’s proper.” Derek nodded and sure enough, Cotyar opened the door, waving him out. They joined up with the crowd of lacrosse athletes and Stiles friends, who stood off to the side.

An hour later, Stiles and Derek walked by various stalls, having gone off on their own, Ayo and Cotyar a safe distance behind them. They were quiet, but Stiles didn’t mind, enjoying the presence of the man next to him, and enjoying the various craft fairs and stalls. The air was crisp, a cold front having moved in. There was even talk of snow, an extreme rarity for the area that had left many kids giddy in excitement. They stopped at a local farm stall, Stiles interested in the beautiful scarves. He’s noticed Isaac wearing many as the weather got colder. He saw Derek pick up one out of the corner of his eyes, a deep emerald green. The scarf matched his eyes, but he put it down, moving on. Stiles eventually bought Isaac a scarf. He’d have bought them all Christmas gifts no matter what, but now instead of it being a display of his wealth, he actually put thought into it. 

Derek surprised him by taking the purchase, his silent stare making it clear he’d carry it. Stiles blushed. 

**_Ethan - Awe, you two will make an adorable power couple._ **

**_Stiles - I swear I’m going to neuter you._ **

**_Jackson - Honestly, go for it._ **

A high pitched yip sounded behind them, Stiles not even looking as he laughed, no doubt Jackson had gotten pinched by his boyfriend. They stopped by a stall, the scent of coffee attracting them. Derek immediately ordered two cinnamon dolce lattes, and then surprised Stiles by getting them a sticky bun to share. They walked over to a tiny table and sat, enjoying their treats. 

“So,” said Stiles, waving his hands and muttering, “purgetur.” Derek looked at his hands, now perfectly clean. 

“That’s useful.” Stiles nodded. 

“So...we should probably talk.” Derek looked at him, slowly nodding. “You first.” The green eyed hunk paused, before nodding again.

“Okay.” What followed was an awkward thirty second silence, before both of them looked away, but Derek noticed Stiles shaking slightly. At first he was worried he'd upset him. However he quickly realized that Stiles was laughing. He stopped, enjoying it, before the heir looked up. 

“How about you start by asking me some basic questions?” Derek eagerly grabbed that lifeline, as he did have quite a few. 

“How big is Ravensholme?” Stiles looked up, lost in thought before slowly nodding back and forth. 

“In terms of how many planets we hold or have presence on? That’s a nebulous number for most factions, but in terms of size? We’re the fourteenth largest economically, eleventh largest in terms of permanent settlements and planets and sectors we control, and fourth largest militarily.” Derek’s eyebrows shot up.

“That’s a big discrepancy.” Stiles nodded, but explained that it wasn’t a known fact that they’d had a larger military. 

“Why’s that?” Stiles looked at him for a second, before deciding to trust him. 

“We don’t want people to know, not yet at least.” Derek got the sense he’d just been entrusted with a secret and decided to confirm it. 

“Our first secret?” Stiles paused, his eyes full of happiness, nodding slowly, a small smile on his face. 

“What’s a Ren’Dorei?” Stiles pulled out his phone and pulled up a photo. It was a blue-grey skinned humanoid with slanted ears, “is that an elf?” Stiles nodded.

“The Ren’Dorei, or Void Elves. In their language Ren’Dorei means Children of the Void and is also a blanket term for naturally inclined void mages, like myself.” Derek nodded, none of this phasing him. He learned the void elves were smaller in population size, but indeed members of Ravensholme. “They live at Telogus Rift primarily, but we are trying to convince them to move planet side. Telogus Rift is a base in space,” he explained at Derek’s quizzical look, his eyebrows knitted together. 

Derek paused, before working up the gumption. “So...you like Batman?” Stiles looked at him, confused. Derek mumbled something.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles asked.

“Halloween...you were dressed as Harley Quinn…” Stiles blushed hard, thinking of Halloween and the rather...kinky entertainment they’d given each other. 

“I um...yeah, I do like Batman...the costume was Lydia’s idea.”

“I need to buy her flowers, then,” quipped Derek. Stiles paused before laughing, both of them smiling, sipping their cooling lattes. Derek thought of his next question carefully, but felt he was within his right to ask. “What exactly did your mom say? About everything?” Stiles paused, looking off, his face overcome with a brief melancholic look, before he turned back, schooling it to one that was impassive. His eyes, though, showed great sadness. 

“Please, keep this to yourself,” he stopped as Derek reached out, laying his hand on his shoulder. 

“Of course.” Stiles nodded. 

“I won’t go into all of it, but basically, she sent me to my father because of some blood protection she put on me. Some spell that activated...upon her death. It hasn’t taken hold because I haven’t been willing to call this place home, and my father and eye…” he trailed off gesturing, but Derek nodded.

“The constant conflict didn’t help I’m guessing?” Stiles nodded. “So is this why that nogitsune was able to -”

“Almost possess and kill me? Yeah.” Stiles was bitter, looking off, his mind stormy. He stopped and turned back as a warm, calloused hand enveloped his own. Derek was holding his hand.

“You’re not weak, Stiles. You’re one of the strongest people I know.” He stopped, but all he could do was smile, blush, and nod thanks. They stared at each other, the air becoming thick. They sat next to one another, and seemed to be growing closer and closer. Derek could see the dew on Stiles lashes as he grew closer and closer, while Stiles could count the stubble on Derek’s cheeks. They grew closer, and closer.

“Wow, Derek, long time no see!” Stiles' look was murderous and he knew his eyes flashed as he turned to the voice. Derek’s hand jerked out of his. Some blonde bombshell with a body like an amazon was standing before their table. She wore a leather jacket, dark jeans, and a low cut v neck. Derek stood, his body tensing, a scowl on his face. Yet it seemed he couldn’t speak. She turned to Stiles and thrust out her hand. “I’m Kate, Kate Argent. Allison’s aunt.”

**________________________________________________________________**


	3. Cheers to the Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FILLER CHAPTER: The holidays give Stiles and the assorted gang a chance for some relaxation and emotional therapy...which we can all agree they need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay...Hi.
> 
> FOREMOST: I'm sorry for the delay. Here's the deal:
> 
> I had originally planned to have this be a significant chapter, I've been writing this for months...but I just can't. I've turned it to filler. Chapter 4 will continue with the filler bits from this at the beginning but then get back to the action. 
> 
> Please Please Please review. This was actually TOUGH for me to write. Constructive Criticism is more than welcomed
> 
> Don't forget to peruse the Ravensholme Pinterest! https://www.pinterest.com/Qnoillimrev/ravensholme/

Stiles went on guard, immediately. The woman’s smile was fake, and the scent he got from her reminded him of something spoiled, of paint thinner. He shook her hand, her grip unnecessarily strong, like she was trying to crush him. She turned to look at Derek who was speechless. “Long time no see, hotter than ever.” She turned to Stiles. “So, are you his bottom?” Before Stiles could respond, and then stick this Kate woman with something sharp, Allison appeared at her side.

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you! Oh, hi Derek, Stiles!” Allison leaned down and hugged Stiles, the void mage reluctantly returning it, his eyes on Derek. His expression was wooden, like he’d rather swallow cyanide than be where he was now. “Aunt Kate, this is Stiles and Derek. We go to school together. Guys, this is my aunt, Kate Argent.”

Kate gave a feral grin. “We’ve met. I was just inquiring as to who is the top and who is the bottom.” Allison groaned and whacked Kate in the arm. She looked at the two of them.

“Sorry about her, she’s incorrigible.” Kate laughed, but the sound was hollow, mirthless. Stiles’ hair was raised on end at the sound. He did not like this woman, whoever she was. Allison saw a friend off to the side, one of the mean girls, Kali, and said she’d be right back.

“So, Stiles, Derek here tell you about me yet.” Her eyes were wide, a little too wide. Before Stiles could respond, Derek yanked him up. “Oh come on, don’t be a spoilsport, this was just getting fun. You remember how much fun we used to have Derek,” she called out as he dragged Stiles away, his expression murderous. Cotyar and Ayo followed behind, both on high alert. They’d watched the encounter with increasing agitation.

Derek tugged Stiles along, his expression dark and brooding. Stiles finally removed his hand from Derek’s grip, the man stopping to scowl at him, but paused. Stiles' eyes were shining bright, like twin diamonds in the winter air. “Do not drag me around like a rag doll.” Derek paused, crestfallen. He hadn’t wanted to upset Stiles, he had just been desperate to get away from Kate. He slowly nodded.

“Sorry, I just -” He took a deep breath, his eyebrows knitting together in frustration. “I need to get away from her.” Stiles nodded.

“So I could see. However, would you mind explaining why?” He motioned for Derek to walk with him. They did so, remaining silent for five minutes, before Stiles groaned. “Derek, either tell me what’s wrong or don’t. But,” he stopped, “I’m not going to wander around with you while you brood aimlessly.” Before they could say anything, Laura Hale bounded up to them. She stopped, took one look at Derek’s face, and looked behind them. Her eyes went wide. She made to move forward, but Derek grabbed her.

“Don’t.” She stopped, looking at her brother, a battle of the wills, but was forced to stand down. Derek turned to Stiles. “I’m sorry,” he refused to meet the golden eyed boy's gaze. “I need to go, I’m sorry I ruined the evening.” Before Stiles could say anything Derek had moved on through the crowd. He made to go after him but Laura stood in front of him. Ayo, walked right up to her.

“Move. Or you will be moved.” Stiles held up a hand.

“As entertaining as that would be, I suspect that Laura might have some information for me. Laura?” She looked at him, conflicted. Stiles went from concerned and surprised to annoyed. What was it with the Hale siblings and being silent. “You swore allegiance to Ravensholme. And me. Now...Talk.”

She looked conflicted for a moment before nodding away from the crowds. He followed her, waving Cotyar and Ayo to stay at a distance. “Okay,” breathed Laura, “but before anything, my sister and mom don’t know about this. Just me,” she held up a hand, “and I won’t go into all the details. It’s not my story to tell.” She looked at Stiles, defiant. He was intrigued, so he nodded his head, wary of what he was about to hear.

Laura took a deep breath. “Basically, Kate appears here,” she waved around, “in Beacon Hills, every few years, to visit her brother, father, and Allison.” Stiles nodded. That sounded all very mundane to him.

“She last came here about a year ago, so her coming back now is unexpected, like I said we only see her every few.” Stiles nodded, his mind running riot with what may have transpired between Derek and Kate. “She met Derek at a basketball game. They hit it off.” Stiles eyes widened as he realized the implication.  
__________________________________________________________________

December 11

The Preserve was like a winter wonderland. Stiles loved spending his time observing all of the wondrous moments created by the fresh snowfall. He was amazed when the storm had blown through, unsure as to the last time this area of California had ever seen snow, knowing it was a rarity. School had been cancelled so he had a free day that Friday. He was walking along, following the ley lines, interspersed with telluric currents. He walked past a large rowan tree, recalling its other name as Mountain Ash. He took a deep whiff of the air. In between the smell of the cold and snow, he detected the wonderful fragrance of rowan. He knew that it’d just give the wolves allergies and hives.

He wandered through the forest, a 6-2Aug2 hunting rifle with an abath horn handle slung across his back. He knew that above him were two puddle jumpers, cloaked, tracking his movements, but he decided to be safe than sorry. He held in his hands a minor bestiary from the Hale Pack, a small tome of knowledge, gathered over the years. Even in the dead of winter, with the odd snowfall, the Preserve teemed with life, and magical life at that. He ticked off things he saw, like hares and grey wolves. He knew he’d see creatures not normal or native to northern California. He couldn’t help but drift back to his conversation with Laura. ‘She may not have revealed much, but she revealed enough,’ he thought as the frozen ground crunched underneath his foot.

He was struggling with how to approach Derek about this. He’d been quiet at school, avoidant even. He had thrown himself into basketball practice and working out, and if not working out he was studying for school or studying subjects that involved the faction, his mother having provided her children with sheaves of information. He told Stiles, several times, to drop the subject, growing more and more terse. So Stiles was now busy brainstorming other ways to get at the grumpy, brooding teenager.

He wandered deeper and deeper into the Preserve, looking up at the wintry sun, seeing the massive bluff climbing above him. He stopped as he passed a rather large tree and gasped. A beautiful, crystalline pool lay before him. A great island sat in its middle, a single redwood growing on it, various shrubs and small trees dotted about, growing high, it’s boughs circling over the beautiful, clear waters. He could feel the magic flowing off the pool in waves. An old stone wall circled the ground around the tree, covered in vines that would bloom in the spring. Stiles eyes widened as he detected the power of both Charter magic and druid stones. As he wandered forward he found himself at the remains of an old dock, now dilapidated and rotting, half of it fallen into the pool.

Despite the time of year, and despite the dark earth at the bottom of the pool he could clearly see everything. Little silver fish, abecean longfin he realized, not native to Earth, darted about and water reeds and roots swayed lazily in the water. He knelt down at the edge of the pool, next to the dock, and put his hand on the water. A single great ripple ran along the surface as his insides blazed with the power of the Preserve. He opened his eyes, the golden amber resplendent. The wind rushed next to him and he turned, his eyes widening.

A great being, of old strength and power stood before him. It had a female shape, but cloven hooves and great horns. A dark cowl covered its face, dressed in a flowing robe of leaves and roots, greyed with the dead of winter. Yet the two burning holes in the hood, ice blue flames, made him feel warm and safe. It held out a clawed hand, palm upwards. Stiles stood, placing his hand on top of the creatures. Both of their eyes seemed to shine brighter, if possible.

Stiles stepped back, grinning ear to ear. “You’re the Spirit of the Forest.” She, for he had the distinct impression it had taken female form for some time, nodded. Stiles looked around, nodding at the dock. “You knew my mother.” It nodded again, a wave of sadness coming off of her. Stiles nodded and said softly. “I miss her too.” She held up her hand, a bridge of roots growing out of the ground. They walked over it and onto the island. Stiles smiled as he saw what he had felt. Four druid stones and a charter stone were set into the trunk of the redwood. A few tiny lemon trees were growing, as if they were at the height of the season. The spirit plucked a few, tossing them to Stiles.

So they sat there, Stiles watching and feeling as the Spirit communed with the earth itself. At some point she held out a hand and Stiles took it, feeling his whole body blaze as the forest came alive around him, as his body seemed to inhabit the Earth. He could hear countless voices and feel countless emotions, till finally he beheld nothing at all and beheld everything all at the same time. ‘This must be what a god feels like.’

After a while the communion ended, in an instant, the spirit gone. Stiles smiled as he felt the weight of the lemons in his coat pocket. He looked back over at the dock, an idea slowly forming in his head. He smiled and jumped, clearing the water and landing on the bank, before walking through to Hale House. He had an idea on how to approach Derek. ‘He looks like enough of a handyman…’  
__________________________________________________________________

Stiles marched back into Hale House, a sending taking his coat and things, Stiles handing over the rifle, a gift from a mentor that had fled the corporate world Aargau. He wandered into the kitchens, not surprised to find the new chef whipping his vines around the kitchen. Talia had been wary about hiring a land wight, as they were notorious for eating humans, but this one was a strict vegetarian, in it’s own way. It fed on carrion. Or he, as Stiles reminded himself that the wight’s name was Neville. He put down the lemons.

“Master! I didn’t see you there!” He waved the man off, smiling embarrassedly at being called Master. It had been very amusing when Neville had shown up, the day before Stiles moved back home, bearing a bundle of fresh vegetables, completely out of season, wanting to see if the “Spark we felt in the Preserve” was better and in need of feeding. Talia had taken convincing, but she’d hired him. Neville happily accepted the lemons and set down a steaming bowl of lentil soup with freshly baked bread and a side of winter salad. Stiles enjoyed his treat, looking around the kitchen. Three sendings were assisting Neville, one making a bearnaise sauce while the other wrapped the fillets with rosemary for that night's dinner, the third kneaded dough. Their almost translucent hands worked with practiced efficiency.

“Do you mind,” Neville turned to him, “cooking meat?” Neville smiled, shaking his head no.

“I feed on carrion, Your Excellency, so who am I to judge?” Stiles turned back to his lunch, enjoying the quiet sounds and smells of the kitchen. He’d not spent much time in it. It had wooden countertops and many herbs and brass pans hanging from the ceiling. Old fashioned clay and stone ovens gave the space an old world feel. He had taken to spending time there in between meetings in the C&C.

R.O.S.C.O.E. - Speaking of meetings, sir, you’d best get down there.

Stiles - *sigh* Roger that, Roscoe.

R.O.S.C.O.E. - You did that deliberately.

Stiles chuckled, thanking Neville, and walked out of the kitchen, and straight into Derek. The taller man clammed up. “Oh, I, um,” Stiles took pity on him.

“I’m here for a meeting. I was in the Preserve and just had luncheon in the kitchen. Now I need to get down there.” He made a move past him.

“Luncheon? You had a luncheon in the kitchen?” He looked at Derek, smiling and shaking his head.

“Just another word for lunch. Blame Rosamund for the way I speak, I know I do.” He laughed and opened the elevator door, descending the sixty feet into the complex. He felt that he’d made a dent. A small one, but it was there. Now he’d have to make it home. He walked into the C&C, chewing on an apple. Talia looked up at him, smiling.

“You really have made a miraculous recovery, you know that?” Stiles shrugged, blushing, before looking up.

“I blame the therapy.”

She laughed and nodded. “Your mother said even therapists should be in therapy.” They were soon joined by others, Talia calling their attention. “Alright let’s get started. Quick sheet?” The chief intel officer for the C&C, Stiles couldn’t remember their name, went through it, the heir absorbing the info, but stopped and held up a hand, his brow furrowed, as he heard what had been said.

“Go back. What was that about A-Wings?” The officer looked down and read out.

“A shipment of more than three dozen RZ-1 A-Wing class interceptors went missing three days ago from the Kuat Drive Yards airfield on -” Stiles cut him off.

“I thought Incom were the manufacturers.”

“They are sir, but they don’t have the production capacity and Kuat does. Incom leased the designs and sold all existing stock to Kuat. Would you like a more in-depth brief?” Stiles considered but shook his head no.

“Just think that it's pretty embarrassing, you buy a ton of starfighters and then they fly off. Looks like the bill paying emoji.” Everyone laughed, continuing on, but Stiles' mind kept going back to the missing ships. Something was wiggling at the back of his mind, but he wasn't sure what.

The meeting wrapped up before long, orders distributed, more materials for future briefings requested. “Stay for dinner?” Stiles nodded at Talia, telling her that the filets had smelled delicious when being prepared earlier, before they were even cooked. He stood, but stopped.

“I really should get changed.” Talia shook her head.

“Don’t be silly, it’s only us.” At that Lydia walked in, prim and proper as usual.

“And who are we to warrant any courtesy?” Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be spiky,” he told her. A quick shower and change into nice black jeans and a grey suede cardigan found the Hales sat around the table with Stiles and Lydia, who had been in the C&C going over the details of the new Nebula-class destroyer that was to become, “the Baloo II.”

Cora wrinkled her nose, “the Baloo II?” Lydia nodded, explaining how Stiles loved the movie Jungle Book as a boy. “Isn’t that based on a racist poem by Rudyard Kipling?” As they debated Disney’s use of source material, Derek remained resolutely quiet. It was only a four course meal that evening, starting with a butternut squash soup, followed by an asparagus and goat cheese salad with cranberry vinaigrette, then the fillets, wrapped in rosemary, with golden beets and the delicious bearnaise sauce, and finished out with a plum and honey ice cream. Stiles turned to the man, as his crystal dish was cleared away. Derek wore nice jeans and a black tee, but a sports coat over it.

“You’ve been quiet. Everything alright?” Derek looked at him, taken aback at how kind Stiles was being. He remembered how annoyed he’d been. Plus Derek had taken to ignoring him. He cleared his throat.

“I just thought,” he shrugged, “that you’d be mad at me?” Stiles cocked his head, but nodded.

“I wasn’t happy that you walked off, not explaining anything, but,” he waved it off, not wanting to give up Laura. “Listen, I’m not sure what the exact deal is with you and Kate,” Stiles said, not truly lying, “but you can tell me in your own time. I do hope you still want to get to know me though.” Stiles' voice had become softer, smaller, a tad more unsure. Derek felt a surge of affection.

“And I still do,” he blushed as Stiles’ gaze turned on him, “want to,” he gestured between them, “get to know you.” Stiles nodded, smiling happily. They went through to the sitting room, enjoying holiday themed cocktails.

“How was your sojourn into the Preserve? Find anything interesting?” Lydia had disapproved of Stiles journeying into the Preserve alone, but had stopped complaining at his baleful glare and reminder that despite the fact that he’d beaten the nogitsune, didn’t mean he didn’t need time alone. He told of the things he’d seen, except for the Forest Spirit, keeping that to himself for the time being.

“I found this pool in the middle of the forest, teeming with magic, I think it’s the site of where all of the ley lines and telluric currents intersect. In fact there was this really cool old dock. I’ve thought about rebuilding it.” Talia smiled.

“Derek could help you. He’s always drawing and making things. He built a tree fort when he was fifteen, all by himself.” Stiles turned to Derek, impressed, but the tall gruff man appearing to not be able to take the praise. He was looking off and away.  
__________________________________________________________________

December 15

“So, what exactly are you considered, if not human?” Derek heaved, removing the rusted nail from a pillar. He looked adorable with the hat pulled low around his head, wearing a puffy vest and fleece. He wielded the hammer with expertise, not entirely surprising Stiles, as they dismantled the dock, figuring out what wood was still good, and what they’d need to replace. The morning had been full of awkward silences until Stiles asked him if he’d been studying Ravensholme, it’s history and more. Since then, he hadn’t shut up as Derek kept him talking with a steady stream of questions. It had been fun watching Derek’s confusion at the explanation of being human, but not.

Stiles laughed loudly, the sound filling the air, several birds peeping up in response, as if responding to him. He looked at Derek and shrugged. “I’m human but not, like my mom was. Doctor Bashir told me the most similar thing, the analog, is an aasimar.”

“Aasimar,” asked Derek, his brows knitting together as he cocked his head to the side.

“Aasimar are beings who have parents that are both mortal and planetouched, angels or other celestial beings. Hybrids, though I’m far more human in appearance. I’m essentially human until my magic awakens then I’m…”he trailed off, shrugging again, “different.” Derek nodded, asking another question.

“What do aasimar look like?”

“Oh there’s all different types,” said Stiles as he put more rotted wood to the side, “some with metallic green skin and wings, others with tails and ears like a doberman’s with eyes of liquid gold. They’re considered quite beautiful, though you won’t find them everywhere. They prefer the company of other hybrids like themselves. There are a few of them who live at the Nordic Coven with Lady Amelia’s son and his wife.” Derek stopped and looked at him, curious.

“Are vampires considered hybrids?” Stiles stopped, thinking, before nodding his head back and forth.

“A vampyr is, on some level. Some are the product of a virus, some are born of ancient magic, or venom, many of them originally human, but a methuselah isn’t. They’re pureborn.” Derek stopped, thinking about that word.

“When you say pureborn -” Stiles cut him off, with a scowl.

“I don’t mean it like a racist hierarchy thing. It’s not as if they are better than. It just means they are born that way, versus turned. Nothing like genetic superiority,” he sighed, “that does exist in their community, like in all communities. A vampyr who has a child with another vampyr would give birth to a methuselah. Yet some would balk at that child being termed methuselah.”

Derek and Stiles continued talking, Derek curious to learn more and more. Stiles found he liked Derek’s constant questions, being able to indulge and share in his world with someone who wanted to hear about it. Plus, Derek’s voice was low and growly. They turned to other topics, such as Matthew Crawley, Derek marveling how an undead could be “infused with light” as Stiles informed him. Learning there was a whole “Undercity” beneath New York where an undead queen named Calia ruled was another shock,

“Don’t worry, there are Abhorsens, clerics who also use magic,” he explained, “who handle rogue undead. Ravensholme possesses several.” He told Derek about his teacher, an Abhorsen from Aargau, who fled the wretched place when he’d run afoul of the worshippers of some god named Abbathor. He’d ended up training a whole host of them for Ravensholme.

“How’d he piss off the worshippers of a god of greed?” Stiles explained how they engaged in the trafficking and slavery of creatures called Abarimon. “Hairy creatures with backwards feet!?” Stiles nodded. “You’re joking Stilisnki.” Derek cracked up, but he saw the seriousness on Stiles' face and stopped. “Wow...The Verse really is full of surprises.”

They took a lunch break, Neville having provided them with a heated lunchbox. Inside were paninis, still nice and warm. They drank ice cold waters, but warmed back up with hot coffee. They sat next to each other, not touching, but close. Stiles asked him question after question about wood types, building, and more. “I wonder who built this?” Derek shrugged, but he had a far off look.

“Derek?” He turned to Stiles. “Do you have an idea?” He waved at the now torn up dock. Derek sighed. “Come on man, you literally gallivanted around the Spirit World with my mother to save me.” Derek laughed briefly before going quiet again.

“I think it was my father.” Stiles’ eyes widened as he looked at the dock, then at Derek. The man wouldn’t look at him and kept talking. “He always loved to build things. Wouldn’t surprise me if he did this.” Stiles thoughts for a moment before it came to him.

‘God I’m an idiot.’ He turned to Derek. “Derek, by any chance, when you said, when we first met, that you understood…” Derek nodded, head turned to the side so Stiles couldn’t see his face. Stiles slowly reached out, and laid his hand on Derek’s shoulder.  
__________________________________________________________________  
December 18

The last day of school dawned on them. Stiles walked downstairs, Deimos following, as Christmas music played softly throughout the house. He smiled as he came into the kitchen, Melissa going over a shopping list. He’d offered to have “the staff” do it, but she’d laughed and waved him off. He sipped his coffee as Isaac and Scott appeared. Isaac said good morning, while Scott nodded, his eyes down. He was rather silent around Stiles.

Melissa frowned at her phone. She looked up at Stiles, a question on her lips. As if he read her mind he nodded and said, “I’ll take them. No point in you going out of your way.” She was surprised but smiled and kissed his cheek.

“You’re a treasure.” She said goodbye to all of them, reminding the boys to complete their chores when they came home early. They both stared at her, confused. Like puppies. Stiles sighed and waved his keys at them.

“Let’s go.”

The drive was a silent one. It wasn’t awkward, like their first time. Stiles turned on the radio, Sleigh Ride coming through the speakers. Isaac piped up eventually. “You...you seem better, after having the flu and being so sick.” Stiles therapist, Jenny, had instructed him that his defensiveness was not an appropriate response to Isaac, though Scott had been a topic of longer discussions. Stiles nodded.

“Yeah, I’m glad I’m better. Wasn’t fun.” He looked in the rear view mirror. Scott looked away, blushing. Stiles didn’t think much of it. They pulled into the school parking lot, Stiles friends waiting for him. A short ways away, the Hale siblings stood, talking. They walked over and joined the group as it walked towards the school. Scott stayed on the outskirts. As they came up to the steps he cleared his throat and leaned in towards Lydia.

“Um...Lydia,” she stopped and turned, the group walking ahead, Aidan moving to stand in front of Lydia, flexing his muscles. She rolled her eyes and pushed him aside. She raised an eyebrow at Scott. “I um...need your help?” She turned to Aidan.

“Go away.” He sighed, but complied, growling low at Scott who flinched backwards. Lydia smirked at him.

“Can’t believe you haven’t figured it out yet.” Scott blinked, wide eyed.

“Figured what out?” She shook her head, sighing.

“Nothing. What do you want Scott?” He scratched his head, avoiding her gaze. She snapped in his face. “I’m getting old here, McCall. What is it?” He sighed.

“I need to know what to get Stiles for Christmas.”

Corey was waiting for Stiles at his locker, having driven in with Mrs. Ramsey. He held a letter in his hand, looking fidgety. “What is it?” Corey handed it over, quiet, biting his lip. Jackson plucked his lip out.

“Chew gum, if you’re nervous. More annoying, less damaging.” Stiles scowled as he read the letter. “What is it,” Jackson asked, looking over his shoulder. “Court date?” Lydia appeared and plucked the letter out of Stiles hands, the heir not minding as he wrapped an arm around his friend. Lydia looked up.

“Let’s discuss this after school.” She looked at Corey, her face softening. “It’s a short day, we can all go,” she looked at Laura who nodded.

“We can meet at our house.” The group dispersed. Stiles was in a far off place as he walked into English. He sat, contemplative. He looked up as the scent of leather and tobacco and wood fire came over him, like a heady perfume. He noticed Derek’s surprised stare. Stiles jolted, remembering it was his day to bring coffee. He hadn’t. They stared at each other, before slowly Stiles began to laugh, Derek smirking, chuckling himself, as he sat. They looked at each other again, laughing some more.

“You’d think I’d remember to bring coffee after so many months of doing it.” Derek shrugged, smiling.

“We’ll make some at my house.” Stiles gave him a dazzling smile that made Derek’s insides all jumpy.

“Deal.” A throat cleared, both of them turning, seeing the entire class staring at them, including Mrs. Ramsey. She smiled.

“If you two are done? Messrs Hale and Stilinski? So we can get started? It’s not vacation just yet.” The class laughed as the boys blushed.

School ended at lunch time, the group piling into each other's vehicles. Isaac and Scott got a ride home from Boyd, the group of friends watching as Stiles and his gang left the school, Lydia smiling enigmatically as she observed them. Hale House was in full swing for the holidays. Rosamund and Winston seemed to be directing the chaos, but stopped upon seeing the group come in, zeroing in on Corey. “Does Sharon know you’re here,” asked Rosamund, steering the boy into the living room. He nodded as he sat, saying he’d spoken to her before he left, and the group gathered round.  
“What exactly is going on?” Rosamund waved the sendings off, the group pouring tea and coffee as Corey nibbled on a chocolate covered graham cracker. Stiles held out the letter. Rosamund and Winston both put on spectacles as they read it. “Oh,” she looked up, “well, it’s a court date, The initial hearing.” She looked at Corey, smiling. She wrapped an arm around him.

“This is good news, Corey.” Winston’s voice was calm, reassuring. He turned to all of them. “Why don't you leave Corey to Rosamund and I. There’s plenty to do around the house for the holiday.” They all knew it was an order. Derek found himself wandering up to his room, Lydia directing everyone into the dining room where boxes of decorations and supplies were being sorted through. Stiles paused, before deciding to follow Derek.

The man was laid on his bed, hands behind his head. Stiles paused, looking around. “This looks new?” Derek looked up, looking around the room. He shrugged, plopping back.

“I came home one day and it had been done.” Stiles raised an eyebrow.

“That didn’t bother you?” Derek sighed.

“I’ve learned my family serves an interstellar faction with connections to aliens, wizards, and international criminal syndicates. My room being remodeled without my knowledge or permission? Didn’t really register on my radar.” Stiles snorted and nodded.

“Can’t argue there.” Stiles sat down at Derek’s desk, spinning around, amusing himself.

“You’re different.” He stopped spinning, cocking his head as Derek sat up. He waved at him. “You’re relaxed...silly.” He blushed slightly at the word. Stiles looked away, also blushing slightly. They fell into silence, before Derek spoke up again. “Not really a cheery way to start our vacation.” Stiles shrugged.

“I’m sort of used to it,” Derek raised an eyebrow. “The drama, the craziness,” Stiles waves both hands around him. “It’s always something.” Derek nodded. “Hey,” barked Stiles, grinning. “Let’s go work on the dock.” He skipped out of the room, Derek staring after him, before laughing low, following along. They put on their things and journeyed outside and into the Preserve. Derek could tell they were being followed, now able to pick out here and there where he noticed the flash of a spear tip, or the flick of a cloak. The most notable mark was the slight shimmer in the air where cloaked jumpers or rangers were stationed. They traveled through the wood to the dock, pulling the tarp off the supplies they had covered. Derek made to pick up his toolbox, which Stiles refused to admit turned him on, but was stopped by an invisible force.

He turned to Stiles. The teen had a look of recognition come over him. “Sorry, I forgot!” He muttered a line in a language Derek didn’t comprehend. The air rippled and a shield disappeared. Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles shrugged. “I wanted to practice a new set of abjuration spells I’ve been learning.” He removed a petar from his back holster, it’s iridescent red edge lighting up as Stiles began to cut a board, Derek shaking his head, but smiling as he asked Stiles a million questions.

“What is abjuration?”  
__________________________________________________________________  
Gerard Argent walked into the den, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His daughter Kate stood with their top lieutenants, plans of Hale House laid out before them. “Nice job pops, getting these,” Kate clinked her beer to his glass. Gerard gave a dark laugh.

“Bribes, my dear, bribes.” He looked behind him at Allison, who sat wrapping gifts at the dining room table. “Why isn’t she in here, planning with us?” Kate looked over to her and shrugged.

“Wrapping Christmas presents for her boyfriend and his fellow abominations. She’s probably going to miss the McCall guys good dick. Every woman deserves a good -” Gerard held up a hand.

“I really don’t need to know. It already turns my stomach that I have to pretend to like him. Disgusting. Why do you have to, and to be honest I look forward to -” He was cut off.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it Dad. You don’t like that an overgrown dog is pounding out your granddaughter.” She turned back to the map, pointing out several things, Gerard shaking off the image of Scott and Allison, that his daughter so aptly placed into his head. Kate glanced back at Allison as she wrapped a box. Gerard followed her gaze.

“Speaking of presents, have you bought Allison one yet?” Kate glanced at him and smirked.

“Yeah. Thirty pieces of silver.” Gerard sighed and turned back to their men, plotting the downfall of Ravensholme.  
__________________________________________________________________  
December 24

Christmas Eve dawned, Stiles spending the morning attempting the third level of Rimgar, sweating profusely as he twisted his body into poses. He showered and dressed, walking downstairs to find the house covered in decorations, Melissa cooking a hearty breakfast of waffles, eggs, and bacon. “Merry Christmas, Stiles!” He let her kiss him, having become more okay with physical touches, at least by Melissa. He asked if he could help, but she waved him off. Deimos walked into the kitchen, sitting right at Melissa’s feet, tail wagging. “Oh you’re incorrigible, Deimos.” Melissa however removed a plate of bacon from the microwave, clearly for him.

Stiles looked at his dog, blanked face. “You’re getting fat.” He was sure that Deimos deliberately flashed him his asshole in return. Melissa laughed at their antics. “Where’s Noah?” Stiles still had difficulty calling Noah the D word, but he was trying his hardest to be civil, especially in the last four weeks as their Thanksgiving Day sit down had helped things along.

“He always takes the Christmas Eve shift, all day. He alternates, Christmas Eve one year, Christmas Day the next, to always free up a spot for one of the guys. Before we married he worked both days.” Stiles nodded, his mind running with the information.

Stiles - Roscoe?

R.O.S.C.O.E. - A Happy Christmas, Sir. What can I do for you?

Stiles smiled.

Stiles - Happy Christmas. Can you get into the Sheriff Office’s database?

R.O.S.C.O.E. - Done. What do you need?

Stiles - Please pull all the records of what Noah has done every Christmas Eve and Christmas Day when working. People helped, et cetera.

R.O.S.C.O.E. - Yes sir.

Stiles sat there, curious as to what Roscoe would pull together. Melissa yelled up the stairs for the boys to come down for breakfast. It was a quiet morning, the boys and Melissa listening to christmas music while getting ready for that evening’s festivities. They’d be hosting a bevy of people that evening, including the sizable Hale Family, Phoenix Squadron, and a multiple array of various town folk. Melissa had made sure to keep the guest list to those who wouldn’t question things as much.

Stiles was busy making sauce for multiple lasagnas when his phone dinged. He looked at it and smiled.

Nick’s Pizza - What did Mr. Kaplan get me this year?

Stiles - I’d rather face your wrath than hers

Nick’s Pizza - You are a terribly disappointing nephew sometimes

Stiles - *kiss emoji*

“What’s so funny?” Stiles smiled at Melissa and explained how his uncle was always trying to get Mr. Kaplan to reveal her Christmas gifts. He enjoyed chatting quietly with her, hearing the occasional whoop from the living room as Scott and Isaac played video games.

R.O.S.C.O.E. - Sir?

Stiles - Is it finished?

R.O.S.C.O.E. - Indeed, sir.

Stiles stood at his console a few hours later, a mass of presents on the bed behind him, smiling softly as he watched the slideshow put together by Roscoe. He’d surprised himself by wanting to do this, but learning his father routinely spent time on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day not with Melissa and the boys so as to give others time had helped his newer, more kind view of his father. “What’s that?” Stiles clicked out of the screen and turned to Melissa.

“Just a surprise for Christmas Day, for my dad.” Stiles’ voice still caught at the word dad, but it was less and less each time. “What’s up?” Melissa suddenly looked a tad nervous. Stiles motioned for her to sit down. He sat across from her. A pregnant silence grew. “Melissa, you can talk to me.”  
She looked up and smiled. “I was thinking that it may be time to tell Scott and Isaac.” Stiles’ eyes widened slightly before he slowly, to her shock, began to nod. “You agree?” Stiles shrugged.

“It’s not that I agree, I just see the wisdom in telling them. It’s not like we can hide what’s happening for much longer. And with my family coming tomorrow and Ravensholme coming here tonight…” Melissa released a deep and heavy sigh.

“I’m glad you agree. Especially if Christmas Day we got to the Hales for lunc...luncheon” Stiles laughed and shrugged.

“Less about agreeing and more that it’s the best decision. We can’t hide it all for much longer.” They talked a bit more before Melissa went back downstairs. Stiles leaned back, lost in thought, but his phone alarm went off. He turned to his bed, smiling at the brown paper and string. It was time to start wrapping.

Stiles appreciated the fact that Christmas Eve had been quieter than usual. On Mars, or wherever they spent Christmas, it was a flurry of events and soirees. The quiet was enjoyable. The Christmas Eve Party was in full swing, yet Stiles was still upstairs. His eyes narrowed as he read through his afternoon intelligence briefing. ‘Something isn’t right...why is Kuat dragging its feet…’ The door banged open. Lydia walked in, clothed in a shimmersilk cream blouse and pine green pencil skirt with a wide dark brown leather belt and pin up hair. She looked every bit of a winter wonderland calendar girl. She raised a single eyebrow.

“Shower, shirt, shoes, and let's shove off.” He was marched, none too gently, into his bathroom. His bath had already been drawn, steam rising off of it. The scent of pine and frankincense and myrrh filled the room. Stiles lowered himself gently, Lydia not minding his nudity. She picked up the ironstone pitcher next to the tub and poured it over his head.

“I can wash myself you know.” She clipped him behind the head, before pouring a foaming cinnamon conditioner into his hair, working up a good lather. “How is it downstairs?”

“Scott and Isaac’s friends are suspicious. I suppose that telling those two will be a step in the right direction. Though I don’t trust McCall’s ability to keep quiet, Melissa assured me he will.” Stiles shrugged, not really able to give his opinion as he was enjoying the soak. After a short while Lydia poured water over him again, the tub draining. Stiles stood and wrapped himself in his robe, sitting down at the vanity, prepared to moisturize and do his face. Lydia inspected him.

“I’m thinking I should put in some effort, you think?” Lydia hummed and nodded.

As he walked downstairs about twenty five minutes later, people seemed to turn and bow their heads or make some sort of deferential motion. His outfit was casual, but Stiles radiated confidence. Scott, Isaac, Boyd, and Erica all noticed. They’d been talking as more and more faction members arrived, introduced as various close friends and family of Stiles, about the interesting cast of characters.

Stiles plucked up a flute of champagne and walked over, with Lydia on his arm, clutching a christmas cocktail. “Happy Christmas.” Scott cocked his head to the side. “It’s how they say Merry Christmas in England.” Scott continued with the dumb puppy look but nodded. Scott pointed at the champagne.

“Mom won’t let Isaac or I drink,” he gave Stiles puppy eyes. The heir merely raised an eyebrow and took a sip while staring straight at Scott. The lacrosse captain moaned and everyone laughed.  
“Stiles, are you wearing eyeshadow?” Stiles turned to Erica and nodded. “Oh...it’s nice. Gold is a good color for you.”

The group made small talk, but eventually Lydia pulled him away, as the conversation grew a tad stilted. “One step at a time,” Stiles said softly. They walked through into the kitchen where Stiles was happy to find two of his triumvirs. The heir hugged Okoye and Charon, both dressed to their usual nines for such occasions. The atmosphere was joyful and lively, with garlands of pine and poinsettias with little silver bells hung round, displays of winter wonderland on surfaces here and there with wooden animals and ceramic sleighs.

“It is a tad sad,” said Jackson walking up, Ethan and him laced fingers together, “with the muggles here we can’t exactly have icicles growing from the ceiling and enchanted scenes of snowfall. Or choirs of nymphs serenading us.” They all laughed as Ethan rolled his eyes at his boyfriend. Phoenix Squadron gathered around the table in the kitchen, letting various figures cycle through and wish Stiles a happy holiday. Dax and Nux greeted him happily, the quiet mechanic actually rosy cheeked and, while not smiling, enjoying himself. Ayo and Cotyar stayed close by, observing the crowd with smiles and sharp eyes. Melissa introduced various individuals from the life she and Noah had built in Beacon Hills. Stiles was polite, poised, making sure to remember names and details, but he was more forthcoming with the Ravensholme faction members.

Food was served in droves, many plates of small bites and larger dishes, all with neat cards in spidery cursive. Stiles found himself curious as to where the Hales were. He was excited at the prospect of spending Christmas Eve with Derek, even though he wouldn’t admit it outloud. Stiles was enjoying a dumpling of filo dough and pulled pork as the front door opened. Stiles' nose twitched. Gasoline, juniper, leather, and other heady wooden scents arose to meet him, which piqued his interest, and his arousal. The Hale Family had arrived. Talia, Peter, Laura, Cora, and Derek. The lacrosse player was the last to come through the door, wearing a leather motorcycle jacket with a fur collar. Melissa happily greeted them, extolling over the bags of sweets and the large bowls of tortellini with pesto and pine nuts. Derek looked around and immediately their eyes found each other. Stiles couldn’t help but smile at him. Lydia snorted and moved everyone off to grab more drinks.

The Hales walked over to Stiles, Talia and Laura hugging him after bowing their heads. Peter bowed low, tucking one leg behind the other, until Cora threatened to punch him in the balls. He smirked and laughed, shaking Stiles' hand. Cora looked at him, punched him in the arm, and pranced off. That left Derek and Stiles alone. They were silent for a bit, eyes twinkling. Derek, surprising even himself, slowly reached out, and pulled Stiles into a hug. The shorter boy, with happiness and finality, laid his head against Derek’s chest. Derek’s voice was a low rumble, “Merry Christmas Stiles.”

Stiles pulled back, before laughing embarrassedly, stretching, before accidentally bringing his arms down, swinging them, and knocking Derek’s shoulder. Aidan chuckled off to the side and looked at his girlfriend. “When was the last time Stiles was a spastic mess?” Derek was amused, smirking at Stiles, who apologized and seemed to be vibrating with energy. He decided to gently steer the now spastic teen over to a table laden with drinks. Derek poured himself a lagavulin, neat. Stiles raised an eyebrow, before plucking up a champagne glass, but not before almost sending the bottle flying. Cora had seen it out of the corner of her eye and caught it, giving Stiles a dead eyed stare before shaking her head.

“You have it bad. Idiots.”

The night passed on in revelry and as the clock struck 8 p.m., everyone gathered up their coats and scarves and made their way out into the crisp night air. Derek hadn’t yet left Stiles side, the two making small happy talk. A myriad of cars were parked around the house, but Stiles was of course steered to an armored SUV. He paused as Derek made to get into his Camaro, the car admittedly giving Stiles more of a reason to be turned on than was reasonable. Okoye and Charon both noticed, and sighed. “Stiles.” He turned. Okoye stared, but slowly smiled, and nodded. Charon called out.  
“Mr. Hale.” Derek paused and turned, unsure of what to do as he’d rarely spoken to Charon or Okoye. “Take Stiles with you...though please stay within the motorcade.” Derek started, his face hard, nodding slowly, as if he’d just been given a sacred mission. Stiles smiled at him, Derek yanking the camaro’s door open, like a gallant knight. Stiles settled himself comfortably in the passenger seat. They picked up the signals and pulled into the makeshift motorcade, Derek making sure to watch for Ravensholme vehicles.

The drive was quiet, slightly awkward, but Derek spoke up, finally. “You,” he cleared his throat, “you look good.” Stiles smiled at him.

“So do you. Very manly.” Stiles paused, not sure why he said that.

‘Manly? Really/ Nice going Stilinski. You rule an interstellar consortium but can’t hit on a guy. Jesus…’

As they drew closer to the city center the traffic got heavier. Stiles received a text and directed Derek to follow the motorcade. They parked off of a side street, deciding to walk to the city center instead. As the group walked to the site of the Santa Coming To Town Celebration, Stiles caught sight of his father, with other deputies, ready for the evening. Surprising himself, Stiles walked over. He stopped and turned to Derek, shaking his head. “He won’t bite.” Derek scowled, somewhat apprehensive, but followed him.

The sheriff gave them a polite smile, his eyes getting a little brighter looking at Stiles. “You two are enjoying tonight?” Derek stood silently as Stiles and his father conversed for a bit. The convo was still stilted, but less so than in the past, both men clearly wanting to make an effort. After a short while they moved off, hearing the sound of cheers as the holiday parade arrived, various fire trucks and rescue vehicles decorated with lights, with kids from the local Boys & Girls Club dressed as reindeer.

“So this is a long standing tradition?” Scott nodded happily at Aidan where they all stood on a stoop they’d been allowed onto by the cops, a perk of being the Sheriff’s kids.

“Yeah! Santa comes to town each year in a new way. One year, when I was a kid, he came on an elephant, one year they used a crane to suspend him from a hot air balloon!” Scott’s excitement was infectious. Lydia stood next to Stiles, the air between them still a little awkward, but the merriment of the evening made it possible for Stiles to turn to her.

“I know we have a lot to talk about, but more than anything I want you to know that I’m sorry.” Lydia looked off in the distance, but turned to him slowly. She stared at him, her green eyes glistening.  
She spoke softly. “For the briefest of moments I was ready to wail for you.” Stiles' breath caught in his throat.

‘She was ready to cry for my death…’ Neither of them said anything. All Stiles did was pull her against his side, the ban sidhe laying her head on his shoulder. They all watched with great interest as Santa came into town on a camel, basically mirroring the story of the nativity it seemed. It was highly entertaining and Stiles found himself really enjoying seeing Scott so excited by the display. As they journeyed back to the house, Stiles became increasingly excited to hand out presents. He’d made sure to get everyone something. Though he’d tell them to not open until the day of.

The main courses were served and laid out by the time they got back. After a few helpings, and multiple drinks, Stiles took his chance. He tugged Derek’s sleeve. The man raised an eyebrow. Stiles blushed, but nodded his head. “Come with me?” Derek was surprised but put down his drink and stole with Stiles up to his room. It was Derek’s turn to blush, remembering the last time he’d been in Stiles room he’d seen the man naked. It was the closest they’d come to anything sexual since Halloween. Stiles’ room was decorated for the holidays, with twinkling werelights and the scent of pine from dark green candles, wreaths of holly everywhere. The same Christmas music that played downstairs was played up there, but the instrumental was softer, more noticeable without the noise.

Derek noticed Stiles was shifty, avoiding his gaze. “Hey,” he reached out, but paused. Stiles gave him a smile and took his hand. Then, Derek saw behind him. On the bed were two packages, wrapped in brown paper and bound in string. “Did...did you bring me up here to give me Christmas presents?” Stiles looked at him, nodding slowly. Derek found himself counting the moles on Stiles face, as a warmth filled him. He slowly hugged Stiles. “Thank you.”

Derek picked up the smaller package, noticing it felt like clothes. He slowly unwrapped the twine, then slowly unwrapped the paper as he realized Stiles had folded it in such a way that it was tucked tightly, not taped. His eyes widened slightly, seeing that Stiles had bought him the green scarf he’d noticed Derek liking at the Christmas village. He looked at the pale teenager, who was being very bashful. “Stiles, thank you.” His voice wasn’t his normal gruff tone, it was genuine and full of joy. Derek eagerly unwrapped the second parcel. It was an emerald green sweater, matching the scarf.

“I thought it would be a good color for you. With your eyes and,” Stiles was stopped by Derek pulling him in to a tight hug.

Two hours later found them back downstairs, everyone readying to say goodbye. Derek had not brought his gift for Stiles, revealing to him that he thought Stiles probably wouldn’t like it and already had everything. Stiles had given him a look of utmost annoyance that he quickly pledged he’d give it to him tomorrow. Phoenix Squadron had found themselves spending the entire evening with Scott McCall and his friend group. The old animosity seemed to have faded, the lure of family and the holidays having changed attitudes, or revealed true feelings.

“I was thinking we should all do something for New Years.” Erica smiled at everyone, her plump red lips rivaling Lydia’s. “In fact, the ice rink is doing a special rate on New Years Eve. We should all go!” Stiles observed Derek, raising an eyebrow. “Derek, you can bring Stiles.” Both the boys blushed as Erica tittered at them.

“An excellent idea. How about we do dinner at the Hale House and then we ice skate into the New Year.” Lydia and Erica walked off, making plans.

“What just happened,” asked Isaac softly. Stiles sighed but smiled at him.

“Get used to it."

“That’s a nice scarf, bro.” Derek nodded at Boyd.

“It’s one of Stiles presents for me.” They ignored the questions and looks, Derek pulling on his jacket as the final group of guests prepared to leave. He leaned in softly. “You sure about letting Scott and Isaac know?” Stiles had clued him in on the plans. The heir looked back at them. He nodded slowly, turning back.

“They’ll be bound to find out before long. We can’t risk them not knowing any longer.” Derek was heartened to hear the word ‘we.’ They walked out onto the porch, the motorcade waiting to take Talia and her clan home. Stiles bid them all a Merry Christmas, though he'd see them all tomorrow at Hale House. Before long it was just Derek and Stiles, the former with his new emerald green scarf snug around his neck, his sweater tucked safely in brown paper under his arm. Derek surprised him by taking his waist and pulling him into another tight embrace, the shorter man returning it.

“Happy Christmas, Stiles.” Derek’s lips ghosted over his forehead briefly. In a flash he was gone and into his Camaro, flanked by armored SUVs.

Stiles was still smiling as he walked back in. He then looked about and sighed. There were dishes everywhere. Discarded wine glasses, etc. It wasn’t messy per se, just the usual clean up after a party. Melissa was already getting started. Isaac and Scott were happily chatting, both boys full of good food and drink. He snapped at them. “Oye! Come help Melissa.”

The boys blanched but sprung upwards. They happily gabbed as they helped Melissa and Stiles clean up. Out of the corner of his eye Stiles saw Melissa nod at him. “Right, step aside boys. I’ll handle this.” Scott and Isaac stopped as Melissa smiled at them, nodding. She stood back as Stiles slammed his hands together. Scott yelped and Isaac’s eyes went wide as sendings appeared out of the ground and wall, materializing. “Please handle all of this and prepare for tomorrow’s late dinner.” The sendings bowed low and got to work, Isaac and Scott staring with wide eyes as Melissa held back her laughter.

Stiles turned his golden amber gaze upon them. “We need to talk.”  
__________________________________________________________________  
December 25 Christmas morning dawned with Stiles windows...depicting a snow covered forest. He smiled.

Stiles - Happy Christmas, Roscoe.

R.O.S.C.O.E. - A very Happy Christmas to you too, Stiles.

Roscoe always knew how to surprise him in the best of ways. While he knew these were just images, and that outside it was chilly but not snowing, it was a sweet and wonderful gift. Stiles slowly pulled himself from his bed, stretching languidly. Deimos’ tail wagged, the pup moving closer for a good morning rub, lazily reaching up to lick Stiles’ face. “Happy Christmas to you too, boy.” He laid back, and checked the time. It was early. He brought up the cameras showing the house. “Probably should tell them at some point…” He shook his head, thinking better of it. He paused as he saw a car pull up outside the house, a tall attractive man getting out...who looked remarkably like Scott. “Hmmm...who...are you...Roscoe?”

R.O.S.C.O.E. - On it...the man’s name is Rafael McCall. He is, according to our records, Scott’s birth father.

Stiles paused and then leapt out of bed. He wore his black silk monogrammed pajamas. He threw on his fur collared robe, tying it tightly, before scooping up a glock and flying from his room. The rest of the house still slept. And he planned on keeping it that way.  
R.O.S.C.O.E. - Sir, he’s begun to approach the house. Sir, early scans detect the presence of a weapon.

“Fuck,” he hissed. He flung the door open. He was too late. Rafael McCall was standing, deadly still, with Ayo’s spear at his throat and Cotyar with a gun to his head. The air shimmered and Stiles knew a good forty strong soldiers stood with their weapons directed right at the man.

“Oookay...my ex-wife has upgraded her security.” Stiles stood there and caught the man’s eyes. Rafael breathed in sharply. Stiles paused and then groaned internally. His eyes were glowing. He hadn’t glamoured himself since last night after revealing himself to Isaac and Scott.

“Ayo, Cotyar, stand down.”

“No can do, sir. This man has a weapon.” Rafael paused, surprised. His arms were held up. He swallowed and spoke slowly.

“I’m Agent Rafael McCall of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Yes, I carry a Bureau issued sidearm. My badge is in my left coat pocket. If you reach in there and pull it you will see that I am telling the truth.” Cotyar looked at Stiles who nodded. He reached slowly, not taking his eyes, or gun, off of Rafael. He pulled his coat aside, revealing a holster. Ayo tensed, ready to strike. Cotyar removed a black fold and flipped it open, revealing an I.D. and a Badge. He looked up at Stiles and nodded.

“Stand down, everyone.” Rafael was confused. It was only the two of them. He couldn’t help but notice that he heard a number of clicks and whirs, as if they weren’t the only ones around. Ayo let her spear down, slowly, not taking her eyes off of the agent. Cotyar slowly brought his gun down to level. Stiles walked forward, making sure to dim his eyes.

“You’re Scott’s birth father.” Rafael observed him, his face hard, but nodded.

“Yes, I’m his dad.” Stiles narrowed his eyes, but nodded sharply. The front doors opened and Melissa came marching out. She paused, looking at the scene. Stiles turned to her, making sure she could see the glock pointing out of his robe pocket. She nodded.

“Cotyar, Ayo, why don’t you go inside and get some coffee. I can handle this.” Cotyar and Ayo shook their heads sharply.

“We cannot allow this. He is still a threat.” Ayo’s voice was low, but the danger was clear in her tone. Before anyone could say anything a car pulled up to the house. Okoye, Charon, and Amelia sprung from it, not even waiting for the chauffeur. They were dressed in their business finest, but they seemed hurried as if they dressed in haste.

“Ayo, Cotyar, stand down. Let Mrs. McCall handle this. Let’s go inside.” They steered the guards away, forcing them to listen. Amelia looked at Stiles.

“Stiles, come.” He shook his head.

“I’m fine here.” Amelia paused, but Okoye and Charon nodded at her.

“Very well. We’ll be inside.”

Everyone went in, Stiles sure they were watching and listening. Melissa took a deep breath before turning to Rafael.

“What the hell are you doing here? On Christmas no less?” Rafael inspected her, Stiles seeing anger, annoyance, but also affection and attraction, in his eyes.

“I came here to see my kid. I have presents for him. For you too.”

“We don’t need your pile of guilt, Rafe.” Stiles’ eyes widened.

Jackson - Ouch, go Momma McCall

Stiles - Jesus Fucking Christ! Warn me, would you!

Lydia - Shh, let’s listen.

Stiles felt his friend's mind's eyes combine with him, seeing and hearing through his body.

“Melissa, it’s not guilt. I came to see Scott and thought it would be nice to give you something.”

“Oh because the last time you saw us it was so wonderful? Rafael, it’s Christmas. Leave us in peace. This is our first Christmas as a whole family.” His eyes flickered to Stiles.

“I heard that the Sheriff’s kid had come to live with you all.” Stiles felt a tick of annoyance.

“My name is Stiles, for your information.” Rafael looked at him, but then turned back to Melissa.

“Melissa, please, I just want to say hi and wish him a Merry Christmas. I also don’t like the idea of him being around people who randomly carry spears and guns. Who were those people by the way?” Stiles stepped in.

“My guards. They also have permits to carry weapons, Agent McCall.”

Aidan - Stiles, careful

“Now, my stepmother has asked you to leave and, as I understand it, you do not possess parental rights, having surrendered them? I suggest you listen to her.” Stiles' voice reverberated slightly at the end and he let his fangs peak out just slightly, enough to be considered a trick of light, but also enough to instill fear. Rafael seemed to be tortured for a moment, but released a deep breath.

“Fine. I’ll go. But this,” his eyes went back and forth between them, “isn’t over.” He got in his car, glaring at the both of them, and pulled off. They waited with baited breath until he turned the corner. Melissa looked at Stiles, her face exhausted. He slowly gave her a rueful smile.

“Happy Christmas?” She paused and then burst out laughing, hugging him. They went back inside, finding the others in the kitchen and the house full of the smell of breakfast food. Charon and Okoye were cooking up a storm of waffles, pancakes, eggs, and bacon. Amelia was putting out trays with coffee, tea, and other goods.

“Oh, you’re all so kind, but you don’t have to.” They all looked at her, their minds clearly made up. She sighed after a moment and thanked them. Amelia took her by the arm into the living room where she poured tea and spoke to Melissa in low tones. Stiles let them be. It was still only 7:30. He looked at the tree, the presents in piles underneath, the stockings stuffed full over the fireplace. Deimos pushed his snout into his hand. He rubbed the pup.

“The men are still asleep?” Deimos huffed. Yes, it seemed they were.

Ethan - That was some bullshit

Stiles - Oh for the love of, why are you all still here!? Go!

Stiles felt them leave, his voice having left the sound of clanging bells in their heads. Stiles returned upstairs, planning on going back down in a bit. He drew up a holo window and switched all of the windows in the house to scenes of snowfall and sent off a flurry of messages. He began pumping Christmas music softly through the house. He stripped and tossed his clothes onto his bed and sunk into a bath, wanting to relax for a while. What a morning it had been.

Stiles felt his body grow jittery, as if he had excess magic crawling beneath his skin. He breathed in, wanting to make these feelings go away. He hated being reminded of himself before he’d gained control of his powers, before he knew how to handle his abilities. He thought back to his mother constantly shaking her head as he spastically flailed about. Especially the time he’d accidentally flooded a compartment aboard a warship with super heated coolant because he’d tried to lean back casually. He had tried to explain he had meant to recline in a comfortable position.

He smiled, laughing embarrassedly at himself. He felt a pang suddenly, realizing it was the first Christmas without her, without his mother. Stiles didn’t stop himself, remembering the words of his therapist, Jenny. He let the tears fill his eyes as he remembered his mother on Christmas Day.  
An hour later Stiles was dry and looked at potential outfits for the day. He quickly discarded the idea of jeans. He would normally find himself in formal attire and he was a little uncomfortable at the idea of coming downstairs in a state of undress, but it was silly. It would be just the family. That left his clothes from this morning, which he decided against, which left charcoal grey drop crotch sweatpants, a black tee with leather drawstrings, and a cable knit hooded cardigan. He made sure to wash and moisturize before traveling downstairs.

It was 9 and the house was full of Christmas music. Melissa was sitting on the couch with Noah under a thick blanket. The food was in the kitchen, sitting on warming plates, while multiple sendings moved about, no doubt preparing meals for later on. He gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from one of them.

“Merry Christmas, Stiles.” He smiled at Melissa, not commenting on her eyes that were slightly red, as if she’d been crying. Noah gave him a sad smile. Stiles wasn’t sure what to do. The Sheriff surprised him by standing and slowly pulled him into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” he whispered, before kissing Stiles on the head. The young man felt his eyes get prickly, and surged forward, hugging back tightly. The two men let go, both pretending to not notice the other wipe their eyes. “I gotta say, having these senders,”

“Sendings,” Melissa corrected him.

“Sendings,” he nodded, “is a god send.” Stiles laughed, but nodded,

“Just make sure they never get a glimpse of Scott’s room. Or his lacrosse bag.” Melissa raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I will make sure they do. He needs a good scrubbing, too.” They all laughed, thanking the sending as it put down a tray full of muffins, pastries, and Christmas cookies. “Boys must still be asleep. Should I send up for them?” Everyone was full of jokes. Stiles shook his head no, his eyes wide.

“Not unless you want them pulled by the scruff of their necks into a cold bath.” Noah and Melissa looked at each other, contemplative, before laughing and saying no.

“What’s so funny,” yawned Isaac as he came into the room. He paused at seeing the opaque hands and visage of the sendings. One walked forward, holding out a mug. He gingerly accepted it and muttered a thank you. He hugged his parents, wishing them a Merry Christmas. “No Scott?”

They all jumped slightly at the sharp yelp from upstairs. They looked at each other as Scott came barreling downstairs. “Stiles! Help! I’m being attacked by invisible nun demons!” They all looked at eachother again and burst out laughing.

An hour or so later, with Scott reluctantly being forced to accept the army of sendings that were now tearing apart his room in a bid to scrub it clean, Isaac making sure to keep his door closed, they gathered around the tree to do presents, while stuffing themselves with breakfast foods. Isaac handed out the presents, apparently it was a tradition developed after Scott tore through everything one year.

Stiles was pleasantly surprised by the gifts. He waited till the end to unwrap the familys. He received two bottles of his favorite lychee wine from Aidan and Ethan, Noah somewhat reluctant to let him keep it, but knowing he couldn’t argue. Jackson got him a winter cloak with an eternium clasp, woven by the Kulataks, and Lydia gave him twin wine cups carved from krayt dragon pearl. The Hale Family provided him with a complete ancient bestiary, written in french and the Triumvirs had pooled their resources and gotten him an old kypari sap amphora, knowing Stiles love of antiques. His stocking was full of goodies from various folks and he enjoyed the bevy of magical sweets he’d gotten.

He then turned to the presents from the family. They all seemed to watch with apprehension as Stiles opened the first one, from Isaac. It was a very simple wooden box, carved of linden wood. Isaac blushed. “There’s a shop in town that sells this kind of stuff. It seemed like something you’d,” his explanation was stopped by Stiles hugging him.

“It’s beautiful, thank you.” Isaac returned the hug, smiling. Stiles put his new wine cups in it. “They fit perfectly.” He opened Melissa’s next. She’d given him a gift certificate to his favorite cafe in town, but he was truly in love with the new frye boots he unwrapped.

“Lydia mentioned you’d had an eye on this particular pair.” He nodded, excited to wear them. He gave her a hug and a kiss. She was already wearing the electrum and black pearl bracelet he’d bought her...or had someone buy her. Scott held out his gift next, not looking at Stiles. He was surprised to find that the package was soft. He opened it to find a vibrant red hoodie, purchased from some store that teens loved. Scott wasn’t looking at him.

“Scott...thank you.” Stiles' voice was full of surprise. He could feel Scott’s apprehension. He realized that he’d really given some thought. “I mean, with all the wolves in our lives, I might as well be Little Red Riding Hood.” Everyone laughed, even Scott. “Thanks man. I appreciate it.” He got a very dopey smile in return that made his insides warm, happy that Scott was happy.

He turned to the final present. His father watched him, his expression guarded. Stiles unwrapped a box. He opened it and paused. It was a photo album embossed with gold cursive writing that said Claudia. He slowly took it out and opened it. A message was the first thing that met him.

Stiles, no matter what happens in life just remember that I loved your mother. And that she loved you. Still loves you. And I do love you. With all my heart.

Dad a.k.a. Noah

Stiles felt emotions well up in him as he turned the page. The first photos were of him as a baby. Including several of them with him moving, waving his tiny fists at the camera. He turned the page, and paused. He’d never seen these photos. Photos of his father bathing him or holding him, of his parents holding him together. Stiles didn’t realize that big, thick tears had begun to fall as he went through the album. He didn’t jump when Isaac and Scott came to sit on either side of him, smiling as they beheld the magic photos of Stiles. Nobody commented when Noah and Melissa got on the ground to wrap their arms around Stiles as he silently cried, and smiled, flipping through.

After a few more gift exchanges and openings, Stiles was happy to receive a new tunic and trousers of black windwool, given that his old one had been burned during an unfortunate mission in the Sands of Fire...he stood. “Well..I have a gift for you No...Dad.” Noah regarded him quizzically. Stiles pulled out a tiny little pendant made of chromium. He handed it to him and told him to press the blue button. Stiles sat on the ground as Noah pressed the pendant, surprised that it projected a holographic scene. Soft, upbeat music began to play, an acoustic version of One Republic’s I Lived. A stream of photos and captions began to appear.

They all watched in awe as the photos cycled through, showing the Sheriff helping people on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. It then switched over to show his employees, with their families. It showed how the sheriff taking certain shifts let many of them be with their loved ones. It ended, only being about three minutes long. Noah looked at Stiles, completely amazed and unsure of what to say. Melissa was crying softly, while Isaac and Scott smiled. Stiles refused to meet anyone’s gaze.

Noah stood and took Stiles into his arms. “I love you. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to show you. And thank you for showing me.” Melissa led the boys out of the room. She couldn't help but thank the holidays, for it seemed that it was the holidays that freed the Stilinski men from years of jadedness.  
______________________________________________________________  
Stiles’ Christmas Outfit - https://www.pinterest.com/Qnoillimrev/personal-ensembles/ensemble-78-tiger-moth-suave/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonder if y'all will pick up on any Easter eggs. Feel free to call them out. Some may be obscure. Others are obvious.
> 
> Some fandoms you can pick out 
> 
> 1) World of Warcraft  
> 2) Star Wars  
> 3) Lost Girl  
> 4) Miyazaki


	4. Poison of the Silver Tongued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and I hope everyone is well! Sorry for taking so, so long. This chapter is the longest update I've done. Please remember to review, if you'd be so kind!
> 
> Don't forget that the end notes provide links to fashion, music, and more aesthetic for the universe of Ravensholme
> 
> In this chapter: Something is rising, plotting, preparing to strike at Ravensholme. What’s more? Stiles and Derek’s feelings for one another start to come to a head. Between teenage angst and galactic intrigue, Stiles is forcing himself to just “go with it”

Dec 25

It was around 10 A.M. that the good morning Merry Christmas texts arrived. Stiles returned them, smiling as everyone extolled how excited they were to hang out at the Hale’s House, many of them already there. He was surprised he hadn’t heard from Derek.

 _‘Maybe I should have...no, I shouldn’t bother him.’_ The blended family enjoyed spending time chatting and enjoying their gifts for a while longer, before Melissa began clearing up the wrapping paper. “We’d best start getting ready if we want to be at the Hale’s for luncheon.” Stiles nodded at her. “Why don’t you two let Stiles choose your outfits, it’ll be your first time with all of Ravensholme and being in the know.” Scott looked confused and Isaac looked grateful. 

“Come up to my room in about twenty.” 

Stiles gathered his gifts and trotted upstairs. Deimos stayed downstairs where he was currently getting more fat on breakfast leftovers. His room was immaculate per usual. He placed the Kypari Sap Amphora on an empty table top, candle sticks on either side of it. Perfect. He put away his other gifts, sipping his morning coffee. There was a knock at his door. He flicked it open with his wrist. Scott and Isaac entered, apprehensive. Stiles was wondering what their problem was and then realized they’d never been in there for a long time before. “Come on in, it’s not like the room will bite you.” They shuffled in, looking around with interest, impressed that he’d turned the junk/spare room into such an abode. 

Stiles inspected the pair of them. “Well,” he waved his hand, “come on boys. Lay it all out.” Isaac laid his clothes out while Scott just threw them haphazardly onto the bed. Stiles rolled his eyes but made quick work. He let Isaac keep his jeans, button down, and scarf, telling him he had a pair of boots and a cardigan for him, the boys not noticing when Stiles cast a quick spell to re-shape the borrowed garments, but declared Scott’s chosen wardrobe unwearable. Fifteen minutes later found Scott staring agog at himself, impressed with the stylish and well fitting clothing. It was practically the same outfit as Isaac’s but he wore a blazer instead of a cardigan. 

“Dude...I look good.” Stiles ignored him, picking out colognes and accessories for them. 

“Boys, we need to get going!” Stiles waved them out of the room so he could choose outfits, telling them to let Melissa know he’d be down momentarily. He took a quick shower, scrubbing himself with a cinnamon coffee scrub. He dried off and stared at himself in the mirror and turned, an outfit materializing. He did this a few times before settling on one he liked. 

__________________________________________________________________

Hale House was covered in Christmas lights, wreaths hung from the windows, and Christmas cheer could be heard from inside. The smell of woodsmoke and good food permeated the air around the house. 

Lydia nodded at the boys as she took Stiles’ gloves and scarf. “They responded well, it seems.” Stiles removed his black silk letterman, rose petals in scarlet splashed across the arms and back. He wore his new windwool tunic with his new frye boots and a pair of jeans that matched them both. It was far more casual for Christmas Day than he was used to, but like earlier in the morning he let it go. He raised an eyebrow but nodded his head back and forth. 

“Except for Scott wanting to hit me with a baseball bat, yeah.”

“Metal or wood,” asked Jackson as he walked up, mimosas in hand. Lydia tipped his mimosa over into a plant, walking off as the kanima-werewolf hybrid hissed curses at her in Thalassian. After he retrieved a replacement drink and cheered Stiles, kissing him on the cheek, he asked Stiles.

“So...what actually happened after you told them that y’all needed to have a chat?” Stiles chuckled and took hold of Jackson’s hand, their eyes closing as Stiles shared the memory.

__________________________________________________________________

_Scott and Isaac leapt backwards. “Holy shit, what are you!?” Melissa, who had begun to laugh heavily, scowled._

_“Scott! Language!” Scott put himself between Stiles and his mother and Isaac. Stiles rolled his eyes at Scott’s antics._

_“Now, really.” He scowled as Scott picked up an aluminum bat and began to swing at as a sending walked towards them, wanting to put dishes in the sink._

_“Scott!” Melissa was annoyed now. “They’re not going to harm you, they just want to clean up.” Before the scared teen could respond, Stiles seized the bat and yanked it from him. He stared straight at Scott as he proceeded to bend the bat, in half, with his bare hands. Scott whimpered._

_“Whoa, cool.” Everyone looked at Isaac, Scott looking like he’d been betrayed._

_“What,” gestured Isaac, “that was cool! You have to admit!” At that, the door opened, Scott jumping sky high. Melissa rolled her eyes._

_“I mean really…” Sheriff Stilinksi walked in, shaking off the cold and rubbing his hands. He paused in the entry way as he came across the scene in the kitchen to his right. His eyes glanced back and forth between the bent bat in Stiles hands, his glowing eyes, Scott’s abject fear, and Melissa’s cross between annoyance and amusement. He settled his eyes on Isaac and pointed at him._

_“I had a feeling you’d accept it more easily.” Stiles leaned his head back._

_“Why me,” he muttered. Before anyone could say anything he pointed the bent bat, “living room. Now. Please,” he added at his father’s stern look at being ordered around by his teenage son. Melissa ushered the boys in, kissing Noah hello. Stiles thought for a second and then nodded. He walked in, several tumblers and a bottle of Johnny Walker in his hands. His father scowled. “Trust me, we’ll need it. May make things easier.” Melissa surprised him by seizing the bottle, pouring a finger, and downing it._

_“Yep,” she nodded. She poured three glasses and passed them to Stiles and her husband before staring at the boys. Hard. She slowly poured two more and pushed them towards them. “Don’t think this will become a normal thing, but you’re gonna need it.”_

_“Why,” asked Isaac, eyes wide._

_“Because,” said Noah, serious, “your lives are about to change. In a very big way.”_

_An hour or so later the bottle of Johnny Walker was halfway gone, mainly due to Stiles and, surprisingly, Melissa. Scott and Isaac looked like owls, eyes wide and necks turning as they looked at everyone, in rapid succession. Isaac was the first to speak. “So...you’re the head of a group of magical aliens that are trying to rule the galaxy?” Stiles rolled his eyes._

_“I’m human...I think,” he looked at his father who shrugged._

_“Your mother didn’t get round to that part. You’re my kid, that’s all I care about.” Stiles cocked his head, his cheeks warming, giving Noah a soft, but neutral, smile. Stiles looked at the boys._

_“I know this is a lot to take in, but I have to stress this. You cannot tell a soul. Seriously,” he stared at them, hard. Both shook their heads like dogs trying to get water out of their ears._

__________________________________________________________________

Jackson and Stiles returned from their reverie. His best friend nodded at him, downing more mimosa. “Not bad, all things considered.” They walked through into the dining room, the windows to their right covered in magical frost. Everyone bowed and then greeted Stiles with kisses or pats on the back. In a corner, a bevy of wood nymphs trilled softly, one of them on a harp of harmona wood while another played on a set of reed pipes. Isaac and Scott were staring wide eyed at the woodland creatures, then darting their eyes at the magical frost or icicles that miraculously hung from the sealing, little fairy lights floating in between. 

“What’s the matter boys?” They all turned, Stiles and Jackson’s mouth dropping. Lydia was smirking, standing next to -

“Kira!?” Scott’s eyes grew even bigger as Kira’s mother, Mrs. Yukimura, walked through, handing her coat and things to a servant. She smiled at Stiles, before turning to her daughter. 

“I hope you haven’t forgotten your manners.” Kira blushed and both women bowed to Stiles, the heir shaking out of his surprise and bowing back. “Your Excellency, it’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I’m Noshiko Yukimura and of course you know my daughter Kira. Scott, Isaac, good to see you both as well.” She wore a diplomatic smile, but her eyes twinkled with deep amusement. 

“Noshiko, good, you’re here.” Talia walked past them all, embracing the woman. “Stiles, I see you’ve met Beacon Hills’ resident kitsunes.” Stiles eyes widened and then turned to Lydia. 

“How...how did we not know!?” Lydia laughed and shrugged, looking to Kira for an explanation. The girl shrugged embarrassedly. 

“To be fair, I didn’t know about any of you until last night. We’d been invited to your house,” she nodded at the three brothers, “but…”

“I decided that we’d join you today,” Noshiko jumped in, “which let me tell Kira about Ravensholme last night.” Kira shrugged. 

“I knew about factions, but didn’t realize such a famous one was right in our backyard.” Before anyone could say anything, Amelia strode in. 

“Why don’t we let the kids enjoy themselves in the living room and we adults can gossip over a drink or three.” Stiles was thankful that she could sense that Scott and Isaac clearly wanted to ask Kira a million questions. Stiles looked around, hoping to see Derek, but only Laura could be found in the living room, talking quietly to Nux. The boy stood and bowed to Stiles before leaving. Everyone looked after him. 

“Large crowds of people he doesn't know make him uncomfortable. It’s not,” she said to Laura, “your fault.” Laura smiled sadly, before greeting the boys, surprised to find Kira there. They all sat down. Jackson went over to the bar that had been set up and began pouring mimosas for all of them. 

“Not too many, or I’ll cut you off,” Stiles told his step brothers sternly. They both nodded, eyes wide, but turned to Kira as Lydia politely asked her to explain herself. 

“A thunder kitsune,” extolled Jackson. Aidan and Ethan chose that moment to turn up, hugging Stiles tightly and wishing everyone a happy holiday. They cocked their heads at learning about Kira.

“Wait...then why couldn’t we smell you?” Ethan turned to his brother, who shrugged and shook his head, also perplexed. Kira actually smiled brightly.

“My powers aren’t fully developed, so my human side is a pretty good concealer. However mom felt that you’d all find out eventually, that Stiles presence had already seen an increase in the magic in The Preserve, so it’d be bound to happen, someone finding me out.” She turned to him, her face growing somber.

“Plus, she told me about the Nogitsune.” Stiles scowled and cocked his head.

“How did she know about that? Did Talia tell her? Or did you sense it?”

**________________________________________________________________________**

Twenty minutes later everyone was dead quiet, staring silently into the distance, as Mrs. Yukimura looked both embarrassed, but amused. “Huh,” said Stiles, “life is full of surprises.” He looked at her.”I mean...you look great for your age.” That broke the ice and everyone laughed. Scott walked in. He’d left to stuff his face some more and had gotten distracted by the amazing food, much to his mother’s amused exasperation. He looked confused.

“What’s so funny?” Stiles smirked and shook his head.

“Life, Scotty, just life.” Lydia gently suggested everyone move into the dining room and enclosed porch, going to join the other guests. Stiles stayed behind, observing Hale House’s massive Christmas tree. Laura sidled up next to him. “So, gonna tell me where he is or…” Laura sighed. He turned to her, his smile dropping. “Laura what is it?” 

“It’s...hard. We lost our Dad around the holidays and for Derek…” Stiles nodded. He himself had been handling tough thoughts since the morning, occasionally looking off into the distance and thinking of holidays past with his mother. “So he’s doing what he always does.” Stiles looked at her, raising an eyebrow. She wasn’t forthcoming. He nodded.

“Don’t tell me. I don’t want to pry.” Laura gave him a thankful look. After a moment of silence she struck up a conversation, taking Stiles by the arm into the dining room. 

“So, Mrs. Yukimura is a celestial kitsune who ended up resurrecting her American lover because she summoned the Nogitsune that took over his body and that, years later, ended up trying to kill you? And you ended up releasing his soul to the afterlife by defeating the Nogitsune?” Stiles sighed and nodded. “You seem to be taking this well.” 

He shrugged. “Honestly, I just kind of go with it at this point.” Laura laughed.

**________________________________________________________________________**

Derek sat in his room, the holiday cheer he felt last night now long gone. It was almost noon and he knew he was supposed to be downstairs for the Christmas Luncheon. The Stilinski-McCalls had arrived about twenty minutes ago by the sounds of it. He wished he felt the urge to go down and see Stiles. But even that was, surprisingly, not a strong feeling he held. He sighed again, until he heard a knock at his door. He was determined to ignore it, this being the third person to come by. The doorknob rattled, but he’d locked it. Before he could even move on in his thoughts, the door began to shake violently and then stopped all of a sudden. His eyes went wide when a fist smashed straight through the wood. The hand reached down, unlocked the door, and it opened.

A man in an impeccable three piece suit, all black, stepped through. His long hair framed an elegant face that made Derek think of Keanu Reeves. The man looked at him. Derek felt cold dread clutch his heart. To his surprise Raymond Reddington walked in after, dressed in one of his usual ensembles, hat and sunglasses off. He looked around the room with an enigmatic smile. 

“Lydia Martin really is a visionary when it comes to interior design.” He looked at Derek, raising his eyebrows, almost like they were having an amiable conversation. “Though you look like a very misplaced piece of furniture right now. Like a sour orange settee or neon green gramophone.” He walked into the bathroom, making little comments here or there. The very intimidating man in black hadn’t taken his eyes off of Derek. Raymond came back and acted as if he’d just noticed him. 

“Ah, yes, I’m terrible at this, mainly because Jovani here is so terribly anti-social. Derek, please meet Jonathan Wick, also known as John or Mr. Wick to our friends. He’s Stiles’ other uncle. John, meet Derek, the lacrosse co-captain and high school jock who has so ably absconded with our dear nephew’s heart.” John casually pulled a gun from his back and pointed it right at Derek.

“The fuck!” Derek scrambled backwards, but there was nowhere to go. John stepped forward, the room almost seeming to chill. He spoke in a deadly quiet voice.

“Hurt him...nothing...nobody...will save you.” Derek quickly nodded, the message clear. John put the gun away, Raymond blinking rapidly with a shit eating grin on his face. “Get dressed and get downstairs. Save the bullshit moping.” John turned and left. Raymond looked after him, his smile not reaching his eyes before he turned back to Derek.

“He’s a tad rough around the edges, like a dog ready to bite, but his advice is sound.”

Twenty minutes later found Derek wrapping himself in a fluffy robe. Stepping into his bedroom. He had scrubbed and moisturized his face, having remembered Aidan’s warning about his girlfriend’s wrath if they all didn’t follow the beauty routines she demanded of them. He did a double take. His door had either been repaired or replaced. On his bed an outfit was laid out for him. He couldn’t help but smile as he looked at the emerald green sweater Stiles had bought him. He felt a warmth blossom in him as he thought of finally giving Stiles his christmas gift. With renewed determination he got ready. 

**________________________________________________________________________**

Stiles was drinking a kir royale, laughing silently as he watched Scott get interrogated by Talia and Okoye, both of them secretly assessing the work that needed to be done to get Scott up to shape in, well, everything. Melissa sighed happily. Stiles raised an eyebrow. She shook her head, a sunny smile on her face.

“Finally, finally I won’t be the only female authority figure browbeating Scott to do better.” Ethan nodded at her, sipping his Christmas margarita. 

“Yeah...Scott’s screwed. They’ll kick his ass into high gear.” At that moment Raymond appeared with John. 

“I recall that ass kicking was applied to you after the incident in the bar on Canto Bight. What fourteen year old hits on a ten?” He shook his head while Ethan scowled and Stiles laughed. He accepted a whiskey from John. “Oh, yes, Melissa, pardon me, this is my brother John. If you ever need anyone taken out, he’s your man. An absolute visionary when it comes to wet work. John, this is Melissa, Stiles’ wonderfully able stepmother.” Melissa took it in stride, laughing at Raymond and shaking John’s hand. Stiles sighed, shaking his head and downed his drink, reaching for another. 

“May want to slow down there?” Stiles turned to Noah. 

“Why would he need to slow down, he can’t get drunk.” The air seemed to grow cold and stilted as Noah looked at John. The man’s face was blank and his voice, barely above a low grumble, was enough to make anyone pause. However it was his dead stare at Noah that seemed to make the guests give pause. The eyes held nothing in them, like a shark’s. Noah’s face grew stern and hard. John jumped in again. “Unlike you, most of us here can’t get drunk.” As if to emphasize he downed his drink. 

“What’s going on here? You all look constipated.” At that moment Stiles could kiss Cora Hale right on her mouth. But it was who stood next to her that stopped him short. Derek appeared, and he looked like he was fresh off a modeling shoot. What was more, he wore the emerald sweater Stiles had bought for him, over a white button down. His black jeans hugged him perfectly, paired with a pair of suede ankle boots. He looked - 

“Why Derek, you look sublime.” Amelia strode forward. Derek bowed, as he’d learned was proper from Peter. Amelia turned and looked at everyone, her smile not reaching her eyes, an icy wrath hanging underneath, clearly not in the mood to adjudicate a family squabble. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m dying for some more livelier Christmas tunes.” At that moment, Ethan pulled out some sort of string instrument and was joined by Charon on a harp, both joining the nymphs. They struck up a Christmas tune. Amelia began singing “I Saw Three Ships”. Talia steered Noah into the kitchen, requesting his help with the carving. Stiles released a breath and shivered slightly as Derek touched his shoulder. He turned and smiled softly. Derek gave him a look, a cross between soft and concerned. Stiles felt a rush of affection and surged forward, hugging the man.

Derek immediately returned it. “Need another,” he whispered huskily. Stiles laughed, blushing. He pulled back and looked at the man, nodding. 

“But maybe make it less conspicuous, for my dad’s sake.”

“So why,” asked Derek as he grabbed them both large pewter mugs, filling them with a breakfast beer, “was there a thing about you drinking? I didn’t think it was ever an issue. You all seem to drink freely. And I’ve never seen you drunk.” 

“Well, we can’t get drunk. Our metabolisms are different. We can drink as we please and not really feel the effects. Never noticed you as being someone who got that drunk yourself.” Derek shrugged.

“Just takes me a lot I think.” He had never thought much of it. He looked at Stiles and felt his cheeks grow warm, the boy observing him, as if he were a puzzle. “You look nice.” Stiles gave him a dazzling grin. 

“So do you. Where’s the sweater from?” Derek decided to play along. 

“I don’t know. Think my grandmother got it for me.” Stiles squawked indignantly. They both laughed after a few seconds of pretend awkward silence. Derek popped a bacon wrapped date in his mouth, moaning low at the delicious taste. He stopped, feeling Stiles’ gaze on him. “What?” The pale heir shook himself and smiled, blushing. 

“Nothing.” 

They moved from the dining room, which was really just a massive circular buffet, into the closed off porch. They sat at a table by themselves, everyone seeming to leave them be. 

Rosamund walked up to Noah a while later, on Winston’s arm, having arrived at a quarter past one. “He seems to be coming out of his shell quite nicely,” she said to the sheriff and his wife. Noah turned to her, confused. She smiled.

“Derek,” she motioned with her hand, “who has ably absconded with our dear Stiles’ heart. He seems to be opening up well.” Noah’s face set into hard lines as he felt protectiveness roll over him. 

“Well, it seems you two can agree on something,” Raymond whispered to his brother, who merely gave him a dark look. Raymond raised his eyebrows. “I’m not wrong, clearly you and Noah would both kill Mr. Hale if you had the chance.” His voice had taken on its ‘I’m obviously right’ quality. 

At one thirty great trays of roast chicken were brought out, with tons of gravy, garlic mashed potatoes, vegetables, and more. Derek watched with amusement as Stiles heaped great amounts onto his plate.

“Wha’” the heir asked, his cheeks bulging, in a display unlike any Derek had seen from him. Derek shook his head, his lips twitching.

“Just never seen you eat like this. It’s good!” He quickly clarified at Stiles’ crestfallen look. The boy gave him a surprisingly dopey, happy grin. He swallowed, but blushed.

“I just...really like roast chicken.” Derek nodded, and gave Stiles his trademark smouldering smirk. 

“Noted.”

Stiles felt content and warm. It was nearing five in the afternoon, the sun having set at around four thirty. Candles floating in pearlescent bulbs had appeared from thin air as it got dark, bathing the house in an ambient glow. He was full of good food, good drinks, and was relaxing on the very comfortable couch in the living room of Hale House. Derek had been distracted the last two hours or so by Scott and Isaac, the two of them trying to convince him to work with them on having Stiles, Jackson, Ethan, and Aidan join the lacrosse team. Aidan sat with Corey, directing the younger man in the finer movements of chess, his favorite game. Stiles looked over at Mrs. Ramsey She spoke softly with Quarsh Panaka, sitting quietly on the windowsill while snow fell softly in the background. He was glad their weather machines, really more purposed for detecting magical anomalies or serious weather events, could give them all the gift of a soft snowfall, with the denizens of Beacons Hill none the wiser. His father collapsed into the seat next to him, surprisingly bearing two mugs of the spiked eggnog. 

Stiles gratefully accepted it, sipping and enjoying the bite of Woodford Reserve in the concoction. The Stilinski men cheered one another. “Enjoying yourself?” Stiles turned to him, a content smile on his face, and nodded. 

“This is the least formal Christmas I’ve had. It’s nice...I hope it stays this way.” To his surprise his dad turned to him, smiling warmly. 

“If Christmas is always like this. Going forward..I wouldn’t be able to wait for it.”

A few minutes later, after his dad moved off to talk to Talia, Derek took his place. He nodded at Noah. “So your uncle hasn’t killed him?” Stiles shook his head no, his eyes wide. 

“Thankfully, no. Looks like the Yuletide will be merry and gay.” Derek’s eyes went wide before laughing openly, his head thrown back. Stiles found his laugh infectious and joined in, the merriment of the day seeping into both their souls. They stopped eventually, not noticing everyone looking at them, some with love, but many with exasperation, wanting the two to get a move on. Derek slowly reached out, a present Stiles hadn’t noticed in his hands. 

“Merry Christmas, Stiles.” The heir blushed, taking the present, glancing at the jock, muttering his thanks, as he tore it open. Derek began talking, low and gruff, clearly nervous, promising Stiles he could return it for something if he didn’t like it, that Derek had the receipt, but Stiles stopped him, putting a finger to his lips. Derek stopped cold. 

Stiles admired the matching leather cuffs, fingering the details of the handcrafted leather and the little tree of life emblem, stamped in pewter. He looked up at Derek, his eyes shining. “They’re beautiful.” Much to his own surprise he surged forth and kissed Derek on the cheek, his self control disappearing in that moment. 

**________________________________________________________________________**

Dec 31 - Jan 1

Stiles blushed as he thought about how he’d lost control on Christmas Day, kissing Derek on the cheek for the amazing handmade leather cuffs. He was normally far more circumspect when in public, but he was moved by the thoughtfulness of the gift. He loved accessories, especially handcrafted ones. He wore them, clasped over the sleeves of his off white henley. He was in the kitchen, making a pot of sauce for lasagna. The door opened, Scott walking in. He gave Smiles his dopey smile.

“Sup, bro?” Stiles rolled his eyes good naturedly. He really needed to have a conversation with Scott about language. “Something smells amazing. What’re you making?” Stiles pointed to the trays and quickly batted at Scott’s hands. The jock smiled good naturedly.

“They’re for tonight.” It was New Years Eve and everyone had awoken to multiple texts from Erica Reyes reminding them of the plans for that evening. Ice skating and then some social event after, though Stiles was leaning hard no on that. Scott nodded, extolling how good the food had been lately, but that he still loved his mom’s home cooking. He chatted on inanely, Stiles surprisingly not minding. He’d been learning to practice mindfulness of how everything had affected those around him, how Scott’s world had also been turned upside down. 

“Is Corey coming?” Stiles stopped, surprised, he turned to Scott, raising an eyebrow. 

“No...why?” Scott looked away, his cheeks glowing red. “Have a crush on him?” Scott looked back, a protest ready. “I’m just asking because you bullied him so much that -”

“I’m not gay, bro!” Stiles held up his hands. 

“Fine, Scotty, relax, Jesus. I get it. You’re no homo.” His voice had taken on a mocking tone but he looked Scott straight in the eyes, conveying that he was joking. Scott paused and then started laughing. 

“Dude, you said no homo.” Stiles shook his head. 

**_‘Baby steps,’_ **he reminded himself. He then got serious. “Why did you ask about Corey?” Scott seemed to grow embarrassed. “You can tell me, I’m not gonna attack you.” Scott looked relieved. 

“I just...I have something I want to say to him...and not sure how…” Stiles' eyes went wide as he caught glimpses of Scott’s mind.

“Do you...do you want to apologize to him? For the way you treated him?” Scott’s eyes seemed glued to his shoes, but he slowly nodded. “Why didn’t you apologize at Christmas?” Scott looked up panicked.

“Should I have done that? I wanted to, dude, but I just got, like scared and,” he was stopped by Stiles holding up his hands. 

“Scotty, calm down. It’s okay, dude.” Scott smiled suddenly. “What?”

“You said dude.” Stiles groaned.

As night fell, Stiles happily picked up Corey, though that really meant Ayo and Cotyar did. Sharon Ramsey’s house was an adorable bungalow, white and a silvery pale blue. The extensive gardens would look beautiful in the spring when in full bloom. Even in the dead of winter, it exuded a cheerfulness. Stiles waved at his English teacher. Panaka appeared behind her, raising his glass. He looked incredibly relaxed, which was a rarity for the man. Corey closed the door of the armored car. 

“No Roscoe?” Stiles sighed and shook his head no. “Is there something going on?” Stiles looked at him, his face neutral, and shrugged. 

“No more going ons than usual, why?” Corey hummed but didn’t respond. Stiles couldn’t help but be impressed, the boy’s observation skills were truly supreme. “Ready to ice skate?” Corey seemed to grow embarrassed and mumbled something. “Corey?”

“I um, I don’t know how...to ice skate.” Stiles smiled and threw an arm over his shoulder. 

“Excellent. Neither do I.” He laughed at Corey’s shocked look. “What?” Stiles laughed. “I can’t be perfect at everything. Come on, a sociopathic fox spirit almost did me in. I’m far from the best.” 

The car pulled up to the Beacon Hills Ice and Hockey Rink. It’d been a surprisingly popular place since it opened, many wanting to escape the California heat in the summer. So skating in shorts wasn’t out of the ordinary, though that had been banned after one too many falls. Corey drew slightly inward as he saw the large group of friends. Phoenix Squadron, Scott, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Kira, Allison, and a few others he recognized from the Beacon Hills popular crowd. “Hey, it’s going to be fine.” He looked at Stiles and felt slightly reassured. Cotyar and Ayo opened the doors, the two boys popping out. 

“Whoever marries you Stilinski is gonna be a lucky girl.” Stiles raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure of the jock’s name, but was surprised that Scott spoke before he did.

“Lucky dude, bro, whoever marries Stiles is gonna be a lucky dude.” The way Scott looked at him made the jock look away, seemingly embarrassed. It was like he’d been backed down by,

“An alpha.” Stiles turned to Aidan and cocked his head. Aidan nodded at Scott, who was currently standing back as Allison and Lydia spoke to Corey. “That was an alpha move.” Ethan walked up next to his twin. 

“Speaking of alphas, where are the Hales?” At that moment a camaro roared up next to them. Laura and Cora popped out, while Derek pulled off to park. Derek stepped out of the car, cool and collected. Stiles felt his mouth go dry as he observed the man. He wore a simple enough ensemble, but he radiated confidence and just oozed sex appeal. Stiles was glad he knew how to control his arousal again, because he’d be leaving a snail trail of slick everywhere otherwise. He walked up, smirking. His eyes flicked to the bracers, his mouth ticked up at the corners.

“Like something you see, Stilinksi?” His tone was teasing, but he kept back, knowing that there were plenty of folks around who were not in the know. Stiles made a show of rolling his eyes. 

“You wish, Hale.” Jackson faked wretched while Cora looked at them with murder in her eyes. 

“Alrighty, let’s gooo,” Erica was not to be denied. Everyone walked in, talking amicably, Scott taking the lead with Isaac and Stiles, the three chatting good naturedly. The skating rink had a fair amount of people already inside. Stiles stepped to the front, ahead of his step brothers, pulling out a simple matte black card and silenced their protests with a quick flash of his true eyes. He paid for all of them, the high school jocks and hanger ons thanking Stiles when Isaac told them.

“You’re pretty much set for life.” Stiles shrugged at the comment. It really didn’t matter to him, how much money he had, not when so many around The Verse suffered from starvation and disease. He would use his money for better things. But it didn’t hurt spoiling his family and friends. 

“Here, let me help.” Stiles turned and watched as Scott, very kindly, helped Corey strap into his skates, the young man practically pushing himself backwards and away from Scott, the lacrosse co-captain calmly helping. He nodded at Corey when he was in his skates and turned to do his own. Boyd clapped him silently on the shoulder and nodded at him, Scott giving him a dopey smile. He turned to Corey and spoke in a deep baritone. 

“You can lean on me if you need help, I was like a newborn calf when I first began skating.” Erica cackled.

“He was all sorts of flailing.” Jackson smirked.

“Sounds like Stiles.” Everyone laughed and then laughed harder after Stiles, without looking, cuffed Jackson upside the head. A few minutes later Corey found himself leaning heavily against Aidan, not feeling comfortable with folks he didn’t know, but Boyd near his side, as the muscular teens helped him on the ice. He’d gotten on and crashed almost immediately, learning just how hard ice was. 

Stiles fared little better. Lydia had quickly taken up his arm, gliding along like, “the banshee you are.” At that moment Stiles flailed widely as Lydia let him go and sped off, jumping and pulling off a perfect lutz. Before he could fall, he caught the scent of leather and gasoline and woodsy aromatic. Derek’s hands tightened on his waist. His lips were close to his ear. 

“You’re like a baby giraffe.” Stiles shivered and then retorted back.

“Better baby giraffe than a sourwolf.” Derek’s grip tightened but Stiles could feel the smirk. 

“When are those two going to get a move on and put us out of this cavity inducing misery?” Jackson’s eyes went wide as he turned and looked at Boyd. Thankfully he was the only jock who seemed to notice, Scott distracting his buddies with his usual dopey frat boy antics. The beefy black man raised an eyebrow at him. “Corey isn’t the only observant one, trust me.” He sped off, picking up his girlfriend’s hand. Ethan skated up and kissed Jackson’s cheek.

“You okay babe?”

An hour or so later the teens gathered for cocoa and to get warm. Ethan turned to Stiles. “Any plans after this?” Stiles nodded at the collection of popular kids. 

“I know they’re all headed to someone’s house or something rather or other for drinking and tonsil hockey into the New Year.” His tone made it obvious that Phoenix Squadron would not be joining. Lydia walked up to him, her eyes twinkling. “Yes?”

She smiled like the cat that ate the canary. “I was thinking...maybe we could show the boys and the Hales...one of the more interesting locales in Ravensholme.” She then mouthed a word at him. ‘Void.’ Stiles suddenly felt himself swept with glee and a bit of perverse amusement. 

“I could definitely be into that.” After another hour of ice skating, Scott skated up to Stiles.

“Lydia says she has plans for us after? That we aren’t going to Matt’s house?” Stiles gave him a big grin and smiled.

“Yeah, promise it'll be fun!” He leaned in, winking. “Trust me, something cool for you to see. Magic.” Scott was pretty much like a kid in a candy store. He was more and more comfortable with magic and now eagerly sought it out. Not to practice, he had admitted to Melissa he was a little afraid of it, but he loved seeing it. As everyone bundled up to say goodbye, Scott and Isaac came up with the excuse that their dad wanted all of them home, the Hales saying the same. Boyd and Erica seemed to pause, unsure, but happily wished them all a Happy New Year. Allison smiled at Scott and, while the young man wanted to kiss her at midnight, felt his sadness dulled at the excitement of seeing more magic. Allison adjusted the lapel of his polo. 

“Have fun,” she kissed him. Hard.

“Alright, that’s enough. Let’s go, we need to get home.” Isaac hugged Allison, but was clearly impatient. As Stiles’ motorcade took off, the boys with him, having ridden with Allison, Isaac turned to him, excited like a puppy. “So, what’s this magic you’re gonna show us?” Stiles refused to answer any questions until the core group arrived at the McCall-Stilinski household, and journeyed inside. Noah and Melissa were both working. Lydia told them all to just get inside and to not bother taking off their coats. They gathered the boys and the Hales around Stiles in a circle, the ban sidhe nodding at her best friend. 

“Stiles what’re you, whoa,” Scott was cut off as Stiles spun his hands around him, cackling void energies gathering, his eyes going pitch black, speaking in a low voice under his breath in a language none of the mortals could understand. Derek’s eyes widened as he heard a bit of the elven language he'd heard Stiles speak in passing. Around them the air whipped up and suddenly they felt themselves pulled forward. Stiles had formed an orb of void energy in his hands and shot it straight up. 

They were all sucked into the rift. The air rushed around them as their vision swam with stars and space, before they felt like they were on solid ground again, Derek, Laura, Cora, Isaac, and Scott hitting it hard. Of course the others had landed perfectly on their feet. They all groaned, but slowly stood up, their eyes going wide as they beheld the eerily beautiful...world wasn’t the right word, Derek realized, as he beheld the floating islands in space around them. 

“Welcome.” They all blanched, eyes going wide as Stiles voice sounded deeper and flanged. “Welcome to Telogus Rift.” At that, a man stepped up to them. Not a man, they realized quickly. An elf. He and his counterparts had inky black or blue hair, with skins in various shades of blue, purple, or gray. All of their eyes glowed with the energies of the void. “Magister Umbric. Anu ren dela’na.” The Magister smiled, showing his sharp teeth and bowed, repeating the greeting. He turned to the shocked teenagers.

“You must be the Hales and His Excellency’s brothers. Welcome to our home.” He then greeted the members of Phoenix Squadron warmly, as if they were old friends. Stiles walked up to Scott and Isaac. 

“Surprise.”

About twenty minutes later found all of them in Voidlight Keep. They looked out at the six islands of Telogus, the broken fragments having been shaped into beautiful and twisted homes, lit by the twilight of void flame. Elegant walkways of darkened metal and great bands, held together by arcane magics, floated around Telogus, as if the entire realm was held in a magical snow globe. “That’s essentially the idea.” Derek turned. Stiles smiled. “You were thinking this is like a snowglobe. That’s basically what created the idea, of how Telogus was transformed into the city is is now.” His voice was still altered. They sipped arcwine from Suramar and ate pickled nyork eggs, or indulged in dolma like the one’s Derek had eaten when dosed with veritaserum. 

“It’s...beautiful?” Stiles nodded, smirking. 

“Eerily beautiful.” Bells rang out, the clocktower in the distance set to time in L.A., marking 11p.m. many residents at the public festivals could be heard cheering. Magister Umbric approached and whispered something in Stiles' ear. He nodded and whistled. “Everyone, follow me.” Cora raised an eyebrow, but yanked Corey along. Scott and Isaac eagerly followed as Stiles led them all out to a great terrace, where a massive fountain filled a glowing pool. They stood at the edge and Magister Umbric nodded at Stiles. 

He brought his hands up and began casting a spell. Arcane runes the color of ice twisted around his forearms and hands, blue mist pouring from his open palms. A great circle with intersecting runes appeared on the pool, the middle of it shaped like, 

“A snowflake?” Isaac’s eyes were wide. With a great clap, the circle exploded outwards, freezing the water. “Whoa!” Isaac turned and took a double take. Lydia was glowing, her casual clothes transforming and disappearing. She wore a flowy black dress with a sweetheart neckline and a necklace of sapphire and diamonds. A streak of bone white decorated her fiery locks. Aidan appeared next to her in black tie, his eyes glowing and fangs and claws out. He took her hand as beautiful and elegant music began to plan, that still matched the eerie beauty of Telogus. They stepped onto the ice and began to waltz. Ethan and Jackson snapped their fingers.

Ethan transformed like his brother, whereas Jackson’s eyes became serpentine and ice blue, scale like patterns appearing in spots on his face and hands like tattoos. They both wore black slacks and crystal studded jackets. They too began to waltz. “Whoa.” Magister Umbric chuckled, the Hales and Scott and Isaac looking at him. 

“I will happily assist if you wish to change,” he waved at their clothes. Laura quickly nodded. He twirled his finger and she began to turn, getting the message. Her casual winter attire disappeared, now in a form fitting but flowing dress of black and purple lace. A servant came forth, holding up a mirror. Laura blushed and said thank you. She looked at everyone else and flapped her hands. She was giddy with excitement, and probably alcohol Derek thought.

“Come on!” They all, in various stages of reluctance, began to turn. Derek felt like he was dipped into an ice bath, then suddenly felt warm again. He opened his eyes and couldn’t help but nod appreciatively. He looked good in all black with a grey overcoat. He looked up and stopped for a second, taking a deep breath.

Stiles walked towards him, also in all black, a large belt buckle on his waist of blued steel, in the shape of a raven in flight. The collar of his floor length coat was grey fur, like a wolfs. Yet his skin glowed with the energies of the void. “Ren’dorei,” he whispered. Stiles stopped and nodded. 

“Yes, Ren’dorei.” They turned as they heard Corey whine, Cora taking the young man, now dressed in black tie, off to the ice to dance. Cora wore a dress that was very her. It had pockets and she wore what looked like customized converses. Laura was dancing with a handsome looking void elf magister, blushing as he complimented her dance moves. Derek turned, watching as Magister Umbric placed several glowing void crystals around Stiles head, floating around him like a halo of black diamonds. The heir turned to him. 

“Derek,” the jock looked at the magister, “aren’t you going to ask Stiles to dance?” Before either of them could say anything, Isaac and Scott egged them both on, the two boys in black tie, Scott, once again, with a mouth full of food. Derek looked at a blushing Stiles. 

“You, um, you want to dance? Not that you have to, if you do-” he was cut off by Stiles taking his hand, a warmth spreading between them as they walked into the dance floor. Derek noticed the temperature dipped suddenly. Stiles’ hands now had matte blakc claws on the end, the heir pulling on a pair of leather gloves. They looked at eachother, chuckling awkwardly. “I don’t really know how to.” He gestured around them. “Waltz.” Stiles shrugged, before grinning excitedly. He walked up to Derek, but seemed unsure suddenly, before asking.

“Trust me?” Derek stared him straight in the eyes, the beautiful voidtouched eyes, and nodded slowly.

“Always.” Stiles grinned softly and leant forward, Derek shivering as Stiles bent upwards, his lips brushing Derek’s ear. 

“Wolf eht htiw og.” Stiles leaned back, his eyes glowing blue. Suddenly he felt himself seizing Stiles and they began to waltz seamlessly, Derek amazed as his limbs moved of their own accord. He couldn’t help but laugh as Stiles matched him move for move. 

More and more void elves, clearly those of import, joined the dance, tables and lounges floating down out of nowhere as food appeared in arcane flashes while bottles of arcwine and ulaver wine floated about. Stiles and Derek lost track of time as they spun around the dance floor. They stopped as Lydia came up to them, bearing two glasses of champagne. Stiles suddenly realized how long they’d been dancing. His body ached and he was starving. “It’s almost midnight, twinkletoes.” Stiles flipped her off. She giggled, kissing them both on the cheek, before moving off. Stiles turned to Derek, the man raising an elegant eyebrow at her.

“What is it?” Derek looked at him.

“Is Lydia...drunk?” Stiles gave him a shit eating grin and doubled over laughing, but nodded.

“Oh yeah. Arcwine is one of the few things that can get us sufficiently shitfaced and she loves it.” He pointed to Jackson and Ethan who were making out on a bench. They looked ready to fuck right there. Thankfully Cora walked right up with them and hit them both. She yanked them up and over to Laura and the boys, Scott and Isaac sufficiently giggly. Stiles shook his head. “Guess we’ll need to get water into everyone before bed.” Derek chuckled and nodded. 

Stiles looked upwards. A great clock tower showed the time in Los Angeles. It was 11:58. He looked at Derek, finding the man inspecting him intently. He blushed. “Yes?” Derek smirked.

“This is where you disappear to, isn’t it? When you say you need to study? You come here, right?” Stiles was surprised Derek had caught on to that. He slowly nodded. 

“Magister Umbric and…” he trailed off, deciding that it was best to keep some secrets for now, “others. Teach me here.” Derek nodded, not noticing the pause as his head swam with more and more questions. Somewhere, somebody cheered and they began counting down. Derek shook himself from his reverie and turned to Stiles. Stiles felt something well up in him. He looked at Derek and couldn’t help but feel at peace. He also found himself wanting to tell Derek all of his feelings, but paused, stopping himself. He was still unsure as to what to do about everything. He was the heir to Ravensholme and -

“Hey. Stop.” He looked up. Derek was incredibly close to him. “Whatever it is...don’t worry about it.”

“THIRTY” Stiles smiled at him, nodding slowly.

“You’re right, sorry, it’s just that…”

“TWENTY”

“It’s been a year for you, more than anyone But...let’s maybe toast to a better year ahead?” Derek’s voice was tentative. 

“FIFTEEN” Stiles smiled and nodded slowly, suddenly noticing how close Derek had gotten. 

“TEN”

They grew closer, and closer, but then suddenly they felt themselves dragged into a group hug by Isaac, Corey, and Scott, all three happily shitfaced. Stiles groaned inside.

 **_‘Mrs. Ramsey is gonna kill me,’_ **as he looked at Corey’s drunk grin, cheeks red and eyes glassy. Derek and Stiles looked at eachother, both exasperated, but they joined in. 

“NINE, EIGHT, SEVEN, SIX, FIVE,” the two grew closer again, Derek wrapping an arm around Stiles’ waist. 

“FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE, HAPPY NEW YEAR!” Stiles cornily clinked their glasses, the gruff jock smirking and both of them taking a sip, before he pulled Stiles in close as their friends cheered and whooped around them. He put his lips to Stiles’ forehead.

“Happy New Years, baby.” Stiles felt his cheeks glow white hot, but all he did was nuzzle into Derek’s chest, cuddling him on a magical ice rink as the Ren’dorei of Telogus Rift and their friends rang in the New Year.

**________________________________________________________________________**

Allison looked at the footage, watching as Stiles and Derek danced away on the frozen ice. She uploaded it into the system, scanning for defenses, the screen lighting up as it picked out security wards and towers topped with glaive throwers. It was a longshot, Telogus being so far out of their reach, but she knew what her aunt would say. “We’ll put those dogs down.” She couldn’t help but feel the pangs of guilt rise in her. The spy camera she had fixed to Scott’s lapel had done its job. It even remained attached as his outfit was transformed into a black tie ensemble. 

She knew she was just doing her duty, that the Argent’s mission was a righteous one, but she couldn’t help but look at them all and think of how they were -

“Good job, girl!” Her thoughts were cut off, a pit settling in her stomach as her aunt entered, flanked by her two burly bodyguards. She leant over, her tits practically escaping her low cut tank top. “Telogus? We’ve been trying to strike the void elves since they pledged up. This is great footage.” Allison gave her aunt a fake smile, but deep inside she couldn’t help the pangs of guilt that rose into her chest again. A cold dread and deep sadness gripped her heart.

**________________________________________________________________________**

Jan 2 - Jan 31

January was a busy month. Unfortunately, Stiles was rarely available for just a casual hangout. Scott and Isaac were becoming regular fixtures at Hale House, though they tried to avoid Cora who had punched them both in the stomach the morning of January 1st, yelling at them for “ruining the moment where we’d all be put out of our cavity inducing misery!” She refused to explain herself, calling the boys “idiots if they can’t figure it out!” Stiles saw Derek a good deal, but usually in between meetings or at dinners and luncheons. He would come to Hale House, but always for an official purpose. They saw each other mainly in passing. Even school wasn’t useful for catching some time alone.

“Don’t sweat it,” grunted Aidan as Derek pummeled away on the bag, Aidan bracing it. “Stiles really only makes time for you right now, unless he needs something from us for Ravensholme. You heard Lydia. Budget season.” Derek grunted in response, his usual scowl in place. 

Apparently the opening legislative season this year for Ravensholme was a test for Stiles, a test to see how well he could ably take over when he turned 18. So he was busy with meetings, calls, and soirees. Derek kept saying he didn’t mind it, until Jackson told him, straight up, “you smell like expired milk. No wonder he calls you Sourwolf.” So he spent his free time training, Aidan and Ethan spending countless hours with him in the extensive gym underneath Hale House. 

“On the upside, Stiles has never been more turned on.” Derek stopped cold, the bag swinging back and knocking him to the floor. The lycan cracked up, squirting Derek with his water bottle. The lacrosse player groaned, standing up and scowling, shaking his wet head. “Seriously, all this time in the gym? Smart move. He’s wet, dude.” Yet Derek found that Stiles apparent horniness just made him want to spend more time with him, tired of spending that time alone with his right hand and a lot of dirty dreams and dirty images in his head that were mainly about seeing how flexible the heir was. 

“Okay, enough. Jesus fuck you both reek of desire. It’s disgusting.” Ethan walked up, his nose wrinkled. “Can you just do us all a favor and fuck already.” Derek gave him a bitch please look. He growled.

“I would, if we had time.” The twins eyes went wide, Derek having never admitted it outloud. “But I don't want his uncles paying me a visit in the middle of the night.” Both lycans quickly nodded. Their protective instincts towards Stiles were legendary.

A few days later at school Derek found himself sitting at his usual spot at the popular kids table, barely paying attention as they discussed things he no longer found himself caring about. His phone vibrated. A message. He popped it open. 

**_Cora - You look like you need to shit_ **

**_Derek - What is it with you and constipation?_ **

**_Cora - Stop looking constipated and I’ll stop commenting on it, they’re in the library, if you want to come with me_ **

**_Derek - Who is in the library?_ **

**_Cora - Everyone_ **

Derek looked up. Cora was at the doorway to the cafeteria and nodded her head to the side. Her face said ‘come on already’. Derek was curious. He stood, picking up his bag. “Where you goin’ bro?” Derek looked at Theo Raeken. He quickly spun up a lie. 

“Need to get some reading in before Harris. He’s a bastard.” Everyone agreed or made teasing comments about him being a nerd, but all waved as he headed off. Cora met him outside the doors. 

“This way.”

They approached the door on the second floor which flung open of its own accord. Cora stepped through, the air in the door shimmering as if made of water. She had disappeared. He blinked like an owl, then yelped as a hand reached out and dragged him through. “Christ, it’s like you’ve never seen magic before.” Lydia adjusted his shirt and sat down. They had moved inside the small computer room, shifting it just slightly out of the material plane's frequency. It was cozy, the floors covered in comfortable rugs, comfy armchairs and settees all around. A low table in the middle held a holographic display of the school and a holographic clock. Stiles walked up to him, a dopey smile on. 

“Where’ve you been?” A few minutes later he sat next to Stiles, their legs almost touching. The twins were in the corner, playing chess. Kira, who had apparently become a new staple, taught Corey rudimentary Japanese while Lydia and Jackson put in what seemed like a massive clothing order, apparently everyone being bought a few things. 

“I don’t need new clothes,” Corey said for the fifth time in twenty minutes. Jackson rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, you do. Hobo Chic is not in.” Corey rolled his eyes in response, knowing it was good natured ribbing. Kira rapt him on the head. 

“Pay attention.” Derek huffed out a laugh. 

A little chime sounded throughout the room. Phoenix Squadron made various noises of discontent, but stood. “Alright kids, back to school.” Everyone followed Lydia’s lead. She turned to Derek. 

“So, we're going to see more of you, Mr. Hale?”

The friday of the third week of January brought a misty rain. Derek was soaked to the bone, but he lashed out. Kira spun away, the wooden sword dancing along his side, the man barely making a sound, but gritted his teeth. “Don’t lunge.” His nostrils flared as he struck again, this time more guarded. “Better.” He blocked her next three strikes. “Even better.” 

“Thought you weren’t a member?” She shrugged, then fainted to the side, before striking an overhead blow. Derek blocked, danced to the side and out of the kitsune’s reach. She nodded in approval. 

“Think of it as penance for the trouble my family has caused.” They battled for another ten minutes, Derek finally being launched backwards onto the muddy and wet grass by a roundhouse kick as Kira kitsuned out and struck with lightning speed. He groaned but opened his eyes. Kira had a hand outstretched, smiling. He, stupidly, took it. She pulled him forward and socked him right in the eye. He cursed, loudly. He looked at her, she was smirking. “Never trust your opponent to fight fair.” He flopped backwards, the kitsune giggling. 

“I think that’s enough torture for today.” They both looked over. Peter Hale was dressed in a black peacoat, an umbrella over him. He smiled at Kira. “You sure you don’t want to join? We could use someone like you.” Kira shrugged. 

“Maybe one day.” Ever since they’d learned her secret, she’d seemed more enigmatic, despite her bubbly persona once you got past the awkwardness, even though they knew more and more about her each day. Peter nodded, as if this was answer enough. Kira turned to Derek. He was a muddy, sweaty, wet mess. She didn’t seem to have a hair out of place and the grey hood of her long, sweeping coat didn’t have a spec of mud on it. “Next friday. Remember to practice.” In a flash of smoke and a clap of thunder, she was gone. 

Derek got to his feet, slowly, his muscles aching. His uncle chuckled at him. “Come on, you smell like a wet dog.”

“Must be a thing in this family.” His uncle laughed, throwing his head back, clapping his nephew on the shoulder. They entered the house, the sendings practically forcing Derek immediately into a bath. Afterwards he was dressed in his lacrosse sweats and a tee, lounging on his bed, and reading a dogeared copy of _The Shawshank Redemption._

“Andy Dufresne is an inspiration.” Derke looked up, feeling a warmth bloom inside him. His eyes went wide though as he took in more detail. Stiles was...decked out. His eyes were full on golden amber, glowing, his fangs out. He wore his customized Balmain outfit, with the pauldrons. Magical, moving tattoos appeared across his chest. A circlet sat on his brow. He’d gotten a haircut, his hair buzzed low. “You okay?” Derek shook himself out of his stare and nodded, clearing his throat. 

“Yeah, I’m...I’m good. You, um, you look good.” Stiles smiled, his cheeks turning slightly red. 

“Thanks,” he walked in, but tripped over his feet. Derek sprung up and caught him. Stiles fell against his chest, both boys faces inches away from each other. They paused. Stiles could smell the minty freshness of Derek’s breath, Derek could smell the aftershave on Stiles’ smooth face. Slowly, they felt their faces grow closer and closer, their eyes glazing over. 

“Derek, have you seen, oh,” they sprung apart. Talia Hale stood in the doorway. She wore a pale gold grecian dress, a bangle in the shape of a snake on her arm. “Oh, sorry boys, didn’t mean to...I was looking for you Stiles. They’re arriving.” She seemed embarrassed and quickly bowed out. Derek and Stiles looked at eachother, both embarrassed. 

Derek rubbed the back of his neck. “Are you, are you late or something.” Stiles looked at him, eyes wide, and shook his head no. 

“No, no, just a stupid dinner tonight. I had a free moment and wanted to…” Stiles trailed off, blushing. Derek, in a surge of confidence, spoke up.

“I’m glad you stopped by. I haven’t seen you a lot.” Stiles groaned. 

“I know. Budget season. Legislative season. Just,” he sighed, “everything.” He looked at Derek. “Promise we’ll hang out when this is all over, dude.” Derek raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Dude?” Stiles giggled. 

That Saturday found Derek running through the Preserve. He and Stiles hadn’t worked on the dock at all since before the holidays, neither having time. He was regretting then when out of nowhere he found himself tackled to the ground, but he kicked the attacker off and wheeled upwards. Jackson had flipped over and onto a rock. His eyes were glowing blue. “Let’s see just how good you’ve become Hale.” 

“Okay, not bad,” Derek flipped Jackson the bird. An hour later had found Derek on the floor of the forest, groaning in pain after having the wind knocked out of him by Jackson’s ‘fucking lizard dick’ as he put it when the kanima-were hybrid had sideswiped him in the stomach with his tail. “It’s a tale, Big D.” 

Derek huffed. “This isn’t Harry Potter.” Jackson cocked his head. 

“What?” Derek shook his head, standing and bracing himself on his knees. 

“Nevermind, Jackson. Why the fuck does this keep happening?” It’d been a thing now, Derek constantly facing out of nowhere threats. 

“It’s to make you stronger.” He turned. His mother stood there in her Ravensholme uniform. He scowled. “Our enemies are everywhere. You need to know to expect an attack at any second. You need to be ready. I wish it wasn’t this way, but now that you’re in the know…” she shrugged and gave him a sad smile. Derek felt a wave of affection, finally noticing that his mother had bags under her eyes and a tired stare. Even her lips seemed to convey exhaustion and worry in the way they set against her face. He nodded, staring right at her. 

“I get it.”

That evening he was relaxing in the living room, playing chess with Laura. “Any plans for after graduation?” She looked at him and shrugged. 

“I was thinking New York.” He nodded, not surprised, given that most of the colleges she talked about were in New York. “Definitely would enjoy the city. I know Ravensholme has a massive operation there, so I’d be busy too.” He nodded, not really knowing what she was talking about, mainly because she was privy to more than he was. The door opened, both of them looking up. They both wrinkled their noses and Laura dry wretched. 

“What is that smell!?” Ethan grinned ruefully at her. 

“Sewage, plus,” he turned to a very pissed off Lydia, “grimlock eggs. Found a nest of them downtown. Needed clearing.” She muttered something and began to levitate across to the hidden elevator. After they were gone a sending came through, practically breathing air freshener. Derek turned to her.

“You sure about joining their team?” She gave him a look that conveyed second thoughts, though he knew she was joking. 

Both of their phones dinged. It was from Kali. Clearly a mass text.

**_Kali - Hey, rents are out of town for the night! Party, my place, 10pm, BYOB!_ **

Laura looked at him, grimacing. He shrugged, agreeing. 

“Seems childish now, going to those things.” She laughed. 

“Yeah, joining a magical interstellar faction bent on protecting Earth from alien and demonic domination seems to put things in perspective. I haven’t hung out with many...I guess you could say normal, normal people since joining.” They both agreed to ignore the message. Later that evening they sat with Cora and Corey, who was spending the night, watching Netflix and enjoying a massive charcuterie board. 

“Charcuterie and wine, that’s what you’re all having for dinner.” Cora pointed at Corey.

“He’s having seltzer with cranberry.” He blushed. “Mainly cause he’s a lightweight.” He scowled at her while Laura laughed and Derek smirked. Talia shook her head, putting on a pearl earring.

“You look very nice Mrs. Hale.” Corey was hissed at by Cora while Derek scowled at him and Laura called him a suck up, but he ignored them, having learned it was all good fun. Talia smiled at him. 

“Thank you, Corey, I'm glad someone has manners in this house.” She pointedly looked at her children who all gave her exaggeratedly aggrieved faces, except Derek who merely scowled. “Surprised you two aren’t giving me fake excuses to go to Kali’s party tonight.” The oldest Hale siblings' eyes went wide, while Cora and Corey rolled on the ground with laughter. “Oh come on, you two. None of your shenanigans ever passed the smell test.” Laura launched off the couch. “I’m an alpha lycan. I can literally hear when you’re lying.”

“Wait, so the time when you,” she was cut off.

“The time I gave you the talk and condoms at the end, plus made an appointment for birth control? Yeah, I didn’t need werewolf powers for that Laura. Kinda obvious you and Stephen weren’t studying.” Talia rolled her eyes, shaking her head. Even Derek had to laugh at that, until,

“Don’t laugh, Derek. I’ve smelt you when Stiles is around. I’ve smelt things on you no mother wants to smell.” Everyone laughed till they were crying, Derek’s face beet red and more scowley than ever. At that moment, Peter entered, in black tie. He smirked.

“Letting them know how obvious they all are?” Talia smirked at her younger brother, turning around so the man could fasten her pearl choker. He turned to them as Talia brushed down his jacket. “We have a work dinner with the heads of Ravensholme intelligence tonight. We’ll be back in the morning.” Laura cocked her head. “Staying at the moon base,” Peter clarified. They all nodded, as if this were a regular occurrence, and kissed them both goodbye, even Corey getting tight hugs. 

“Nothing ever phases us anymore.” Everyone nodded at Cora and proceeded to pour more wine, allowing Corey a single drink, which immediately got him tipsy. They were joined by Lydia and Jackson an hour later, Lydia knocking the young boy out with a quick sleeping spell, making it clear it was time for him to go to bed. Everyone was overprotective of him. Lydia and Jackson both wore matching lilac and black silk pajamas. 

“Thought you were all buying a house, or Jackson’s dad was?” Lydia shrugged at Derek. 

“Easier to live here.” Jackson nodded. 

“Plus, the C&C has given us all customized quarters and we don’t like to be far apart. My dad got us a fake address.” It sometimes phased Derek how casual everyone was about pulling off things that were difficult for “normal” people. 

That Monday Derek had to fend off Kali’s incessant questions as to where he and Laura had been and why they hadn’t shown up. He made up some lame excuses and begged off. He was happy to find Stiles waiting for him with coffee. The young man looked up at him, giving him a tired smile. His iPad, really a sheave that was disguised as one, displayed numerous figures and pages. Derek felt a pang of worry, but stopped as Stiles held up a hand. 

“Promise I’m okay. Just budget negotiations. Over multiple time zones...and dimensions.” Derek raised an eyebrow, but shrugged, taking Stiles at his word. The heir shivered, Derek immediately whipping off his leather jacket and throwing it over the boy’s shoulders. Neither of them noticed the numerous stares. At lunch, Scott pulled him to the side before he went off to the library. His lacrosse co-captain had been a surprising staple at Hale House, training or being tutored. He kept to himself, but at school he was the usual, dopey Scott. 

“Yes,” Derek asked tersely. He still wasn’t convinced of his former friend’s turn. Scott gave him a look. 

“You put your jacket on Stiles this morning.” Derek growled, Scott blanching backwards.

“What of it, Scott? Please don’t tell me your homophobic bullshit is returning. That’d be,” he stepped forward, his fists clenched, “unfortunate.” To his surprise, Scott exploded. 

“No! You asshole! I’m trying to make everything right with Stiles and I don’t want him getting hurt, He’s had enough of that with his mom dying and all of the crap I put him through!” Derek stopped, looking at Scott with surprise. The teenager punched the wall. “But now you have all of the school wondering if you’re into him and he doesn’t need that distraction! What happens if Theo or Matt or Greenberg or any of the other assholes open their mouths and,” Scott ranted on and on until he was struck as if by lightning. Derek blanched, Kira practically appearing out of thin air. 

“Huh,” she said, “life is full of surprises. He actually cares.” She turned to Derek and gave him a cheery smile, popping her gum. She patted Scott on the shoulder. The man immediately came to. He yelped and jumped backwards from the kitsune. “Relax, Scott, I’m not gonna kill you,” she gave him a toothy smile, the boy clearly not reassured. “But maybe keep your voice down.”

The week went on and on, but Derek was now overly cautious of the way he treated Stiles. As much as Scott had annoyed him, he had to admit the jock was right, to his amazement. Stiles didn’t need any more crap. The fact that that had come from Scott seemed to reinforce it in his head. 

**________________________________________________________________________**

Feb 1

Stiles had noticed a change with Derek, almost like he treated Stiles like a piece of porcelain. Derek had, in a way, acted like this in the past, but it was more annoying now. Stiles had thought they were making progress, even as Stiles suffered through the multiple termagants that budget and the legislative season brought upon him. He was thinking about this when Corey marched up to him, pale and almost shaking. He immediately shook himself out of his teenage reverie. 

“Corey, what’s going on?” The pale sophomore refused to answer, Stiles deciding to lead him off to The Clubhouse, the uninventive name they’d given their hideout in the library. “Corey, you can talk to me. I’m here for you.” He rubbed the young man’s neck, feeling a pang of guilt, as he hadn’t been there as of late. He’d been tortured by the needs of ruling an empire. 

Corey collapsed into him, suddenly, thick tears running down his face. He sobbed, uncontrollably, Stiles holding him, rocking him, as he comforted the boy, who was practically incoherent, but the stress of the coming court date seemed to have finally made him burst at the seams.

**________________________________________________________________________**

While Stiles comforted Corey, Kate Argent strutted up to the nondescript house, her nose wrinkling at the mundanity of it all. In her briefcase were a bevy of notes, gathered for her by her darling niece. She rang the doorbell, a smirk on her face that she trained into a neutral expression as the door opened and she came face to face with the red jowled Mr. Bryant. “Mr. Bryant?” The man scowled, Kate having to stop herself from laughing as it reminded her in a twisted way of Derek. She reached out and seized his hand, shaking it, hard. “Hi! I’m Kate Argent. I want to help you get back your son.” She gave him a wide toothy grin as his eyes widened. 

**________________________________________________________________________**

Feb 3

Corey sat quietly with Rosamund and Winston. Stiles had called them, knowing they’d taken a shine to the boy. They came running. As Stiles popped a piece of baklava into his mouth an alert came through. 

**_Talia - C &C, now_ **

**_‘Well, this can’t be good.’_ **Stiles walked into the main conference room, Talia sitting at the table, Amelia on the screen. Next to her was her son. “David, this is a surprise. How’ve you been?” The handsome man bowed and thanked Stiles, telling him he was well and reminding the heir he needed to visit the Nordic Coven soon. Amelia piped up. 

“Yes, yes, we can plan visits later. Talia?” The commander nodded. She flicked three displays open. 

“David’s agents placed in Sacramento flagged this.” Stiles’ cocked his head.

“Death Dealers found this?” David nodded.

“One of them is placed in security at Browning-Orvice. A defense contractor that is basically just a public face for a gang of mercenaries. However, a large sum from B-O was used to purchase legal services from,” a name flew up on the screen. Stile's eyes narrowed, he recognized it.

“They’re a law firm that specializes in family law.” He turned to the three who nodded. “Why would a defense contractor pay for this?” Amelia highlighted something on her end.

“Browning-Orvice is a mercenary company, but it also fronts several off world businesses, primarily,” Talia flicked up another screen.

“Multiple holding companies we’ve traced back to,” Stiles cut them off.

“Viqi Shesh of Kuat.” 

David spoke up again. “We wouldn’t have seen this if my man hadn’t flagged it.”

**________________________________________________________________________**

Feb 7

Stiles looked at the multitude of holographic windows above him, twirling around like a serpentine cloud. He and Roscoe debated back and forth in his head, windows closing and popping open again as they traded theories and ideas. The notice had arrived, that Mr. and Mrs. Bryant was now being represented by the law firm. Just as their internal records had shown Ravensholme. What was worse, Kuat denied all knowledge of this and they wouldn’t comment on the activities of Viqi Shesh, reminding Ravensholme that the activities of a member of a ruling noble family were not indicative of Kuat’s position or support for any particular matter. It was politico speak for, “fuck off,” Stiles muttered.

“What?” Stiles turned. Isaac stared at the open windows in wonder. Stiles shut the display down. 

“Sorry, was just distracted. Work stuff.” Isaac raised an eyebrow. It seemed everyone was these days, picking it up from each other. “What?”

“There was a picture of Corey’s bruises up there. This is about the hearing on the 10th isn’t it.” Stiles stopped for a sec, but nodded, feeling downcast. Isaac sat down and nodded.

“I think we’re all nervous.” The news about the new attorneys hadn't gone over well. Corey had been particularly upset, practically wailing and begging to never be forced back to his parents. Mrs. Ramsey reported that he’d been unable to sleep much, plagued by nightmares. He was pale and withdrawn. Winston and Rosamund had moved back to Hale House until the hearing. “Why would this Sesh person do this?”

“Shesh, and I agree, but I can’t seem to put it together myself. Kuat’s government is divided by their various ruling families, so there’s any number of agendas.” Isaac had become more and more inquisitive with Stiles, asking about things here and there, always absorbing information. That was how Melissa found them, coming through the door with groceries, grateful to pass them along to a sending that materialized from the wall. She had happily developed a schedule, the sendings knowing when they needed to cook versus when she or, on the rare occasion, Stiles did. They both greeted her. 

“I’m coming on the thirteenth. Your father would too, but it would be considered inappropriate.” Stiles nodded, expecting as much. “Talia invited us all to dinner tonight.” Isaac perked up. The food at Hale House was always delicious, benefit of having a land wight for a cook. “I know it’s not a Friday or Saturday and Sundays are usually here, but it seems…”

“Appropriate?” She nodded at her adoptive son. “Guess we should get ready then?” As she and Isaac walked to the stairs she turned back to Stiles, once again engrossed in his sheave and his own thoughts. 

“Stiles?” He looked up, giving her a tired smile.

“I’ll be along shortly.”

They left for Hale House in their Sunday best, Scott bemoaning how the sendings seemed to always be waiting for him to leave his room so they could clean it. He had practically screamed blue murder when they seized his gym bag, and promptly chucked it. The motorcade pulled up to Hale House. The air was tense. The encroaching court date, plus the troubles the faction had recently faced weighed heavily on everyone. Stiles was pleasantly surprised when he entered the drawing room, only to find an old friend.

“Sybil?” The woman turned around. She gave Stiles a bright smile and pulled him into a hug. “What’re you doing here?” Talia walked up and pulled them off, no doubt to discuss faction business. Melissa sighed, but accepted a drink from a servant. She sat down next to Rosamund who bussed her on the cheek. They both looked at eachother and burst out laughing. The air seemed to lift just slightly as the family and friends all gathered around. 

**________________________________________________________________________**

Feb 12

Stiles missed Derek. He’d barely hide or hair of the man, except for school, and he hadn’t been at the Sunday dinner. He was glad to get a text from Talia that Corey would be spending the night at Hale House prior to the court date. He was surprised when he got a message from Jackson.

**_Jackson - Grab the two mortals and come stay at Hale House for the night. We’re getting pizza._ **

**_Stiles - It’s a school night_ **

**_Jackson - *Gif of Nene Leakes - I Said What I Said!*_ **

**_Stiles - *face with rolling eyes emoji*_ **

Stiles got up and went downstairs, Scott and Isaac in the kitchen, debating the finer points of lacrosse, while Melissa made a groceries list. Three teenage boy appetites saw her at the supermarket, a lot. “Melissa,” she looked up, her eyes narrowing. 

“Magical alien overlord or not, I know the sound of one of my kids about to ask me something they know I’ll say no to.” Isaac and Scott tittered while Stiles blushed, both at being called one of Melissa’s ‘kids’ and at how spot on she was, but forged ahead.

“Apparently Corey is staying at Hale House tonight, before the status hearing, and…” He trailed off as Melissa gave him a bitch please look.

“And Phoenix Squadron is turning it into a thing and wants you three to spend the night even though only Phoenix Squadron is going to the hearing?” Stiles gave her a dazzling grin.

“Pleeease?” Melissa sighed and shook her head turning to her two other sons, both who gave her cherubic grins of complete bullshit innocence. She was dead silent, before finally acquiescing. 

“Fine.” Isaac and Scott cheered, rushing upstairs to pack bags. They’d never stayed at Hale House and were looking forward to it. She raised an eyebrow and turned to Stiles. “They are way too excited about joining Ravensholme.” As they were driven to Hale House Scott turned to Stiles. Melissa had told Stiles as they left that she wouldn't be able to come as previously planned, she had to cover a shift at work.

“I thought status hearings were supposed to be like...two months after the first two?” Stiles turned to him, impressed, but shrugged. He tugged on the red hoodie Scott had brought him, finding himself chilly more and more for some reason.

“Holidays, et cetera. Things get pushed back.” Thankfully the first two hearings had determined that Mr. and Mrs. Bryant were indeed abusive and that Corey would remain in the care of the state. The faction had pulled some magical and legal strings to get him assigned to Sharon Ramsey. So now they were hoping that the status hearing would show that Corey was thriving outside of his home and maybe allow them to push for emancipation, showing that Corey would thrive if strings were cut. They arrived at Hale House and walked inside. Jackson and Ethan were cuddling on the windowsill under a blanket while Aidan and Lydia were nowhere to be found. Corey and Cora were playing chess, observed by Laura, Ethan occasionally calling out a pointer. Kira was dragging an oxxein whetstone across her katana, watching the edge intently. 

“Didn’t expect to find you here.” Kira smiled at the heir. 

“Moral support.” She ruffled Corey’s hair who rolled his eyes good naturedly. Stiles sat next to his best friend and hugged him, Corey nuzzling his neck. 

“Gross.” Cora upended the chess board and walked over to a table laden with fattening finger foods. Corey sighed while Stiles laughed at the youngest Hale’s antics. Stiles stood and stretched.

“Where’re the others?” Laura flipped on the holoscreen to interstellar news. 

“Went to get pizza.” She looked at Stiles when he didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed intently on the screen. Laura quickly turned up the volume.

 _“...and there is no chance of a deal. Compounding this news, Ferrous Corp announced today that, in an unexpected turn, it has invested in Kuat Leisure, a subsidiary of influential mega-corp Kuat Drive Yards. Ferrous Chairman -”_ Stiles shut off the screen and left the room, heading into the elevator into the C&C. Corey looked at Laura.

“That can’t be good.”

Two hours later Stiles returned. The others were watching _Justice League._ Stiles stood at the doorway, leafing through his sheave. Lydia cleared her throat. “Stiles?” He looked up, finally seeing to notice them. He gave the fakest smile they’d ever seen. 

“What’s up?” Derek heaved himself off the couch. Stiles’ mouth grew dry again. Derek’s time in the gym was paying off. His muscles somehow got bigger and more defined. He wore black sweats and a hoodie. “Hey.” Derek looked at him and pulled him in for a hug. Stiles couldn't help but grip him, hard. “Hi.” Derek pulled him over to the couch. They sat next to each other, Derek flipping open a pizza box. Stiles noticed the little rune carved into the cardboard. He nodded at Jackson. “Nice.” The hybrid smiled. 

Stiles happily ate his still hot half pepperoni half buffalo pizza. The group amicably discussed things here or there, though Corey grew quieter as the night moved on. Sendings came in to clear away the trash. 

“Everyone finish their homework?” Talia was met with a chorus of “yes”. She laughed and looked at Kira. “Your mother called. She’s on her way.” The kitsune nodded. Corey looked at her.

“Not staying?” She shrugged. 

“My mom is strict about things...sometimes,” she shrugged. Everyone laughed and wished her a good night as headlights flashed in the windows. Before she left she turned to Scott. “Remember to give that letter to Corey.” Everyone was bewildered as she practically skipped out the door.

Stiles slowly turned to Scott. “What letter?” 

**________________________________________________________________________**

As the night fell, Scott refusing to elaborate, they migrated over to the sunroom off the living room. The ceiling had been replaced with massive panes of glass and they could perfectly see the night sky. The stars were perfect. Derek sat down next to Stiles, holding two stellas. The heir laughed and accepted his, Derek and him clinking, taking a long sip. “We all seem to drink...a lot.” Stiles laughed.

“I remember my mother commenting that there was a good and bad thing about magic and genetic alterations. It made you resistant to alcohol...and it made you resistant to alcohol.” Derek huffed and nodded. 

“You can’t get drunk. Ever.” Stiles shrugged. 

“You saw what arcwine did to us.” Derek had remembered having to even encourage the twins to drink water. Lydia, despite being inebriated, was still perfect at taking care of herself. “You’ve been touchy feely.” Derek shook himself out of his reverie. He looked at Stiles. The shorter man gestured between them. “With me.” Derek grew embarrassed.

“Sorry, I’ll stop. It was inappropriate of me and -”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Stiles flailed, knocking hsi beer over. He quickly picked it up. Derek stood, to get paper towels. “No, wait, I can clean it up.” He stood too and accidentally tangled their limbs. Both boys went crashing to the floor. Everyone laughed. Jackson waived his hands, muttering a spell. The spilt beer cleaned up and their bottles floated to the side, hanging in midair. Derek moved to get up, not looking at Stiles, but stopped as he felt…

“Sorry,” he looked up. Stiles was right over him, blushing profusely. Derek shook his head. 

“It’s, um,” he licked his lips, Stiles eyes glancing down at Derek’s lips, “it’s okay. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have made you uncomfortable and mmph.” Stiles had clamped a hand over his mouth, rolling his golden eyes. 

“Derek. I don’t mind you touching me. I was just curious as to why?” Before Derek could answer, Scott walked in the room, having been in the bathroom.

“Derek, bro, what the fuck, get off my brother!” Derek scrambled. Before Stiles could say a word in admonishment, a growl like a wolf’s sounded through the room.

“Let me at ‘im! I’ll kill ‘im!” Cora Hale, her teeth elongated into fangs, claws out, and eyes glowing, was being held back, barely, by her sister and Corey, the latter basically useless. “YOU FUCKING MORON! WE WERE ABOUT TO BE PUT OUT OF OUR MISERY!” Stiles darted forward, moving faster than the wind and pulled Cora away from the others, grabbing her shoulder with one hand, and striking, palm flat, on her chest. They all watched in amazement as she seemed to fall backwards in slow motion, her soul separated from her body. But it was the shape of her soul that got them. It had distinct wolfish characteristics. In a flash, her soul was dragged back in. She shook her head and looked at Stiles. “The fuck was that for?”

Twenty minutes later Talia was nursing a whiskey while Aidan held Scott in a headlock while Lydia called him an idiot and Stiles glared at him extra hard. Derek sat there, head in hands, and a massive hard on straining against his boxer briefs. Laura was throwing her mother questions a million miles a minute while Isaac and Corey sat off to the side, amused and laughing. Jackson and Cora were going shot for shot in the corner by themselves.

A sharp, piercing whistle broke through the cacophony, all of them wincing. Peter walked in, scanning the room. “What is going,” everyone began talking at once, while Talia merely took a sip of her drink. “SHUT IT!” They all winced. The man sighed before rapid firing. 

“Aidan stop holding Scott, Stiles stop glaring, Derek stop being horny, Lydia stop insulting, Laura stop questioning, you two stop giggling, and you two stop drinking. And Talia, would you get off your ass and do some goddamn parenting.” He took a deep breath, glared at them all, and left. Talia downed her whiskey and slowly stood up. It was dead quiet, save the snorts from Corey and Isaac and the banging of shot glasses as Jackson and Cora ignored Peter’s orders, 

“Okay, first of all. Laura,” she looked at her oldest, “yes, Cora is clearly a werewolf, a lycan. She’s a beta, based on the fact that her eyes are gold and that she’s newly awakened. Yes, it is entirely possible you and Derek are lycans too.” She held up a hand, stalling her daughters questions. “We will talk about this in private. I promise,” she added at her daughter’s indignant look. She turned to Aidan, who immediately released Scott at her glare. 

“Scott clearly was trying to do right by Stiles, so stop being mad at him. Though, Scott, next time...maybe talk to Lydia. Out of everyone in Phoenix Squadron, she has the best head on her shoulders.” The redhead smirked at that. “Though she can be a pain.” She scowled at Talia. The Hale matriarch turned to her son and Stiles. She took a deep breath and released it as a heavy sigh.

“Just get a move on, will you.” Both boys blushed a deep red. She turned to Corey and barked. “Get to bed, now, mister. We have court in the morning. Isaac, go with him.” They fled the room like bats out of hell. She looked over at the corner. “And stop drinking! That tequila is well anyways.” Jackson snorted.

“The closer to battery acid the better.” He was blasted backwards, Talia’s wand having flicked out from her sleeve. 

“Bed. All of you. Now!” Her voice reverberated with power and her eyes glowed red. As Cora made to flee the room Stiles called out. 

“Not you.” She stopped and turned. Stiles and Talia sat at the low table, motioning for her to sit. She did, her face blank, but both of them could sense her excitement. 

**________________________________________________________________________**

Derek looked up from his sink, his toothbrush in mid brush. He went and opened his door. Stiles was standing there, looking embarrassed. “Hi, sorry, um...I thought we could maybe...talk?” Derek quickly nodded, showing him in. He finished brushing his teeth and came out of the bathroom. Stiles sat on the edge of the bed. Derek tentatively sat next to him. An awkward silence grew, but Stiles pierced it, determined.

“I don’t know how to do this.” Derek turned to him, eyebrow raised. Stiles stared at the wall. “I don’t know what to do when I like someone. I was never prepared for this. I wasn’t prepared for much of anything that happened in the last year,” he added ruefully. **_‘Understatement of the millennium.’_ **

He slowly turned to Derek. The man’s expression was neutral, but he was blushing. “Derek?” The jock cleared his throat. 

“You, um, you like me?” It was Stiles' turn to blush, but he nodded. 

“Like, I didn’t mind you touching me, or cuddling me. In fact it felt...safe. I was just wondering why you’d been more free with it lately. Not,” he added quickly, “that I minded.” Derek nodded, not looking at him. The silence grew again, Derek debating in his mind what to say, the words slowly creeping out as his thoughts formed. 

“I don’t know what to do either. You’re the first…” Stiles looked at him as he trailed off.

“Guy,” the heir asked, Derek huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah, guy, I’ve been interested in. First person I’ve been seriously interested in since…” he trailed off again.

“Since Kate.” The jock scowled and nodded. 

“And I just don’t want to fuck this up, especially cause,” and he turned to Stiles, “Stiles your life is complicated. To say the least.” The heir flopped back, laughing hysterically, Derek smiling and slowly joining in. Stiles looked at him. “And on top of it all, I’m a teenager and you’re” he was cut off by Stiles making an indignant snort.

“I’m a teenager.” Derek rolled his eyes.

“Stiles.” The golden eyed bow shrugged embarrassedly. “Most teenagers don’t command an interstellar magical faction. In fact I’m pretty sure you’re the only one. You’re...royalty, quite literally.” Stiles couldn’t argue. 

**_‘Wait a second…’_ **He turned to Derek. “Derek...do you think you’re not worthy of me?” The man wouldn’t look him in the eyes. Stiles felt his magic pulse and he flipped the jock over, climbing on top of him, his eyes glowing and his voice echoing. “You fool. You’re the furthest thing from unworthy!” Stiles ranted and raved about just how foolish Derek was to think that until the man, in a bold move, clamped a hand over Stiles’ mouth.

“Stiles, okay, okay, I get it,” he chuckled, “I’m worthy. Trust me,” he smirked, “I’m honored.” Stiles stopped, his magic, which had formed a slight glowing outline around him, died down. He stared at Derek, hard, before nodding. 

“Okay then.” He got off, suddenly embarrassed that he was straddling Derek, but the man couldn’t help but miss the feeling of Stiles’ weight on him. Another silence grew, but it wasn’t awkward. Stiles sighed, standing up. “I should probably get to bed.” Derek looked at him, sitting up, and reached out. 

“You can stay here if you want.” Stiles turned to him, a hopeful look in his eyes. Derek nodded. “Stay with me?” Stiles blushed, but nodded. “We make eachother blush a lot.” Stiles laughed. He gestured at Derek.

“Well when you’re as fine as Derek Hale,” he yelped as Derek pinched his ass. Stiles stuck out his tongue. “I need to get my pajamas.” He was somewhat shocked when Derek stripped himself of his sweats, Stiles’ eyes immediately zeroing in on the prodigious bulge in Derek’s boxer briefs. He stumbled, Derek having stripped himself of his sweatshirt and throwing it at Stiles.

“There’s an extra toothbrush in the bathroom. Stiles gave him a silent thanks and went in to change. He was hoping Derek would still be in his boxer briefs, but wasn’t entirely surprised when he returned to find the man clothed in his lacrosse sweats and a tee. He looked at Stiles and laughed. 

“My clothes are way too big on you.” It was true. Stiles looked like he was wearing two massive blankets with holes for arms and legs. Stiles laughed, but took a deep breath. Derek couldn't help but feel a primal happiness. “Smells like me?” Stiles nodded.

“Never thought I’d enjoy Hollister cologne.” Derek rolled his eyes.

“I need a new one. It’s so cliche.” Stiles nodded, as he couldn’t agree more. Derek gestured at the massive bed. “Whichever side you want?” Stiles climbed into bed, choosing the less used side. Derek got in and snapped his fingers. The lights lowered to ten percent. Both boys were playing on their phones, Stiles obviously working, Derek responding to texts. Stiles was scowling at another report that made no sense, seeing too many of them those days, when Derek plucked his phone out of his hands. “Bedtime. Long day tomorrow.” Stiles couldn’t help but feel a rush of affection and a little arousal at Derek taking charge. 

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - We’ll have to investigate those feelings later, for sure_ **

**_Stiles - WOULD YOU GO AWAY!?_ **

**_‘Everyone’s a fuckin’ comedian these days.’_ ** He stopped, feeling the bed shift, the lights going out. Derek was curled up on his edge of the bed, away from Stiles. “Umm...Derek?” 

“Yes, Stiles?” 

“Why’re you at the edge of the bed?”

It was silent for a second before Derek spoke up.

“Just giving you space.”

“But...what if I don’t want space?”

“...You don’t want space.”

“I don’t want space...I mean, not from you, I don’t not not want space, but -” Stiles was cut off by Derek pulling him into the middle of the bed and spooning him, wrapping a muscled arm around Stiles waist, his breath on his neck. 

“Go to sleep, Stiles.” The heir felt the briefest of brushes of lips on his neck, the feeling making him shiver, before he completely relaxed against Derek, letting the warmth lull him into a slumber. 

**________________________________________________________________________**

Feb. 10

Lydia walked along the carpeted halls of Hale House, wearing her monogrammed bathrobe, a china cup and saucer in her hands. She nodded to the two sendings outside Derek’s door. They curtsied. She knocked lightly. “Derek.” There was no answer so she put her hand on the doorknob, the internal scanner recognizing her and releasing the hexlocks. She opened it and stopped, smiling as she came upon her two friends. The curtains had been drawn and there was a roaring fire in the grate, no doubt having been done earlier. The light fell on the two boys, Derek’s muscled arms wrapped around Stiles, his head buried in the heir’s hair. She quickly removed her phone and snapped multiple photos. 

She waved the sendings in, the magical beings moving in complete silence, bearing a splindly antique cart with coffee and other morning drinks. She reached down to shake Stiles.

“Don’.” She stopped. Derek had a single eye open, his voice slightly muffled, raspy with sleep. “Don’ wake ‘im.” To his surprise she gave him an incredibly kind smile. 

“He had nightmares, didn’t he?” Derek was surprised, but gave her a sharp nod. She sighed and then noticed the bags under the jock’s eyes. “And you didn’t sleep until he slept peacefully, right?” He again gave her a sharp nod. “I’ll talk to your mother about having you stay home. You need to sleep.” He quickly shook his head no. He drew his head up.

“I have a quiz in Chem and a paper due in Global. Can’t stay home. I’ll be fine on four hours.” Lydia sighed but nodded, giving him a sad smile. She waved at the sendings. They began preparing coffee for the two. “What time is it?”

“Six. They want to brief Stiles at seven.” Derek nodded, promising he’d have him up. 

“Does he need to be fully dressed?” Lydia gave him a look. “What?” She nodded in approval. 

“Good question to ask. The answer is no. He can be in sweats. But he has hair and makeup right after so he should shower, exfoliate, and moisturize beforehand.” Stiles stirred, Derek looking down at him, his expression changing. It was soft and open. Lydia couldn’t help but feel her heart jump in happiness for her best friend. She took a quick photo with her HUD. Stiles yawned and mumbled.

“Shower, exfoliate, moisturize, got it,” he didn’t even open his eyes. Derek and Lydia laughed

**_______________________________________________________________________**

The mood at the breakfast table was quiet, somber, but not tense. Corey was barely eating despite Cora’s incessant urges. His curried eggs and toast with gooseberry preserve was growing cold. Talia walked in in her Ravensholme uniform. She pointed at his plate, steam rising from it again as it reheated. “Corey, sweetie, eat.” Her voice was gentle but the order was clear. Scott, to Corey’s surprise, took his orange juice away and replaced it with milk.

“The acid, not good for your stomach when nervous.” He didn’t look at the sophomore who finally mumbled out. 

“Thanks.” Scott nodded, wolfing down his fifth helping of bacon. Isaac pointed at Corey’s outfit. 

“You look good. Like you’re thriving without them.” Corey nodded at him, less guarded around Isaac. “And remember, you’re standing up for yourself. You’re standing up for your life. Tell the judge the truth, tell the judge how much you’re thriving without them.” Isaac’s voice had taken on an edge. Scott looked at his adoptive brother and slowly put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. 

Cora raised an eyebrow. “Something you wanna tell us, Isaac?” 

“Tell us what,” Lydia strutted in. She wore her mission outfit that she wore when out in the field for Ravensholme. 

“Whoa,” exclaimed Scott. Aidan and Ethan followed her, eyes glowing, claws out, earpieces in, both dressed in tactical armor, P-90s held at their sides and tactical gear belts holding an assortment of weapons and gadgets. Both wore matte black backpacks. Corey sighed.

“Is this all really necessary?” Talia sat next to him and nodded. 

“There are too many new developments and unknowns that just aren’t fitting together. We need to make sure we have all bases covered.”

“Don’t worry dude, I’ll be watching you the whole time.” They all looked up. They had heard Jackson’s voice, but couldn’t see him. Suddenly, the air blurred as a creature that looked like a cross between a wolf and lizard appeared above them, with a distinctly Jackson looking head and face. He gave them a toothy grin, his blue eyes flashing.

“Dude! That’s awesome! Man, you’re like a chameleon!” Jackson laughed.

“That’s the point McCall.” He disappeared again, but they heard him crawl down the walls and Ethan grunted as Jackson landed on his back, curling his legs around his lover's waist. 

“Like a fucking python,” he muttered. Jackson laughed.

“I like your python.” 

“That’s enough,” barked Talia. Jackson unphased himself, his tail picking up a piece of bacon that he happily munched on while clinging to Ethan’s back. Derek walked in the room, seemingly unbothered by everything. He reached over and ruffled Corey’s hair. The sophomore groaned as he tried to restyle it. 

“Sleep well, dear?” He looked up. His mother was smirking at him. He rolled his eyes and ignored her. Laura joined them, rounding it all out, telling Isaac, Scott, and Cora she’d be driving them to school. “Speaking of,” said Talia as she looked at her watch, “you’d best get going. First Bell is 8:45.” As the teens gathered their bags up, walking through the dining room and into the main hall they paused as Stiles walked down the stairs. He was the usual Stiles, calm, cool, and collected, his usual black ensemble on, but the air about him just screamed regal, imperious. He clearly was letting his true self show, just slightly. His eyes sparkled just a little too much. He nodded at the four. 

“We’ll keep you updated. Let us know if anything funny happens while at school.” They all nodded. Laura hugged Corey, wishing him luck. Cora surprised everyone by holding on tight and telling him that he was a badass. Isaac stepped up and took off his scarf, placing it around Corey’s neck. 

“For luck.” Then Scott slowly approached, and held out an envelope.

“Go get them.” Just like Noah said to him before every game. The four left, piling into Laura’s lexus. Talia turned to her middle child. 

“Time for you to head out too.” Stiles stepped forward.

“I’ll walk you out.” Derek nodded and turned to Corey, surprising the kid when he pulled him into a hug.

“You’re gonna be fine” He nodded at him, the sophomore's eyes having grown increasingly wet at the displays of affection. He shouldered his backpack, walking out.

“No leather jacket today?” He rolled his eyes. Stiles hadn’t stopped making fun of him since he saw the inside of Derek’s closet, noting the many different types and styles of leather jacket. 

“No, brat, I’m wearing my letterman.” Stiles rolled his eyes. Derek opened the camaro, throwing his backpack in, before leaning against the side, looking at Stiles who couldn’t help but blush. 

“Yes, Hale?” Derek smirked, reaching out a hand. 

“Come here.” Stiles did, letting Derek pull him into a hug. 

“You like giving me orders.” Derek chuckled.

“You like taking my orders.” Both of them blushed, but laughed at the implication. Stiles pulled back, Derek smoothing down the front of his coat. “Are you going to be okay today?” Stiles face set into stone, giving Derek a firm nod. 

“I’m a leader. This is what leaders do.” 

After a few more minutes of conversation Stiles pushed Derek away. “Go, Sourwolf, before you’re late.” Derek rolled his eyes but got in the car, waving at Stiles as he pulled out of Hale House and drove down to the gate. 

**________________________________________________________________________**

“This is Phoenix One, go for check.” 

“Phoenix Two. Check.”

“Phoenix Three. Check.”

“Overgrown Lizard. Check.”

“Jackson!”

“Earballs! Jesus! Phoenix Four. Check.”

“Phoenix Five, check,” Stiles checked in and rolled his eyes, sitting next to Corey as their motorcade wound through downtown Beacon Hills. They parked in a municipal lot not far from the court house. They entered a nondescript office building. “We took over the fourth floor when I first moved here,” he explained to Corey. They walked in. The rooms still looked like typical office space with cheap wood and carpets that were patterned to hide stains. Yet it was filled with Ravensholme personnel and tech, the faction’s flags hung on a wall. “We’re down here.” 

They entered into a large conference room where Jason Engel, the law guardian from Wolfram&Hart, the “formerly evil interdimensional demonic law firm that works for Ravensholme '' as Stiles had put it, smiling at them. Sharon Ramsey stood next to him. They both bowed to Stiles and greeted Corey warmly. Holo screens popped up, the Triumvirate on the other end. Corey looked at his best friend who shrugged embarrassedly.

“A? Everyone’s worried about you. B? Recent developments make us...concerned.” As they went over that morning's proceedings, Lydia checked through security measures. As the Bryants arrived with their attorneys, they were scanned. Nothing came back out of the ordinary. She turned to Ethan. 

“Get Jackson in place then head topside with your brother.” He nodded. 

**________________________________________________________________________**

Stiles was in disbelief. The proceeding had only been going on twenty minutes, yet CPS was reporting that the Bryants had so far followed through on the plans laid out. This was a complete 180. Corey’s eyes were wide and he had begun to shake in fear at the prospect of being forced to go back home with his parents. While the judge had made no indication of what would happen next, this wasn’t good. Thankfully, Jason spoke up, describing very much how Corey was thriving outside the home, etc. 

As the debate went on and on, the judge asking questions of the parties, Corey tugged on Stiles’ sleeve. He turned to his friend, expecting to comfort him, when he noticed that Corey’s eyes were narrowed. “Corey, what is it?” He nodded over at where his mother set, a look on her face that conveyed contrition and hope. “Corey?”

“Her eyes are blue.” Stiles looked at him, raising his eyebrows. He looked right at Stiles. 

“Stiles my mother’s eyes are brown.” 

**_Stiles - Lydia, I need -_ **

**_Lydia - On it_ **

Everyone waited with bated breath. 

**_Lydia - Our scans from this morning and just now show nothing out of the ordinary. No glamour, no illusion, no magic of any kind. We aren’t detecting any sort of shield or signatures from any sort of stealth tech._ **

**_‘Damnit…’_ **Stiles’ eyes flashed, knowing he needed to work quickly. He looked over at the Bryants and shivered, before pausing. He shivered.

**_Stiles - Lydia, check their temperature. Scan them on infrared._ **

**_Lydia - ...Stiles we scanned them on infrared._ **

**_Scott - No, scan their internal body temps. When we scan on infrared we’re looking for weapons signatures right? We filter out body heat because it can mask those, correct?_ **

Lydia didn’t say another word. Five seconds later Stiles’ HUD threw up multiple warnings.

**_Lydia - Those aren’t the Bryants. They’re fabricants. And...the CPS agents too._ **

Cold dread gripped Stiles. He sent out an alert.

**_Stiles - We’ve been played. We need to pull the plug on this. Now._ **

Suddenly, Corey began to shake as his body was wracked with heaving sobs. The judge paused proceedings and within minutes Corey was ensconced away, practically wailing that he didn’t want to go home with his parents. The judge had, thankfully paused the proceedings for the day. As they re-grouped at the office building Corey looked up from where he was being held by Mrs. Ramsey. He straightened his nice cardigan and blew his nose. “What’s next then?” Everyone stopped and looked at him. Stiles got the biggest, shiteating grin on his face.

“You faked that!?” Corey shook his head no. 

“No, but I knew I needed to throw a scene. We had to get out of there, right?” Jason Engel nodded appreciatively. 

“Yes, we did.” The room was crowded, though Lydia could be heard throwing out orders into her earpiece, not paying attention. Stiles turned to the twins. 

“And the CPS officers?” They nodded, grim faced.

“Fabricants,” they said in unison. Corey raised his hand. 

“Can someone explain what a fabricant is? Is it like a fake?”

“That’s exactly what it is,” said Charon from where he appeared on screen. “A clone or copy that is designed for a specific purpose. Someone is playing a long game. They knew we’d be having this hearing. They wanted Corey to go back home.” Talia Hale spoke up from where she was in the C&C.

“We’re currently scanning the Bryant's house and nothing is coming back out of the ordinary, but it’s officially under 24/7 surveillance until we get our questions answered. Lady Amelia?”

Amelia held up a finger. A few seconds later she hung up her phone, her holo window enlarging. “I just spoke with Wesley. He’s filing an injunction with M-SAD on Viqui Shesh in relation to questions regarding interference with our affairs. We can file a request to have her seized for questioning, but…” She trailed off. Stiles cursed.

“KDY won’t give her up. They’ll tie us up in the interstellar courts for years. If they let her go it’d set a bad precedent for them.” He stopped as he felt a wave of emotions come from Corey. “Hey, hey, hey, none of that.” He knelt down. “You’re my best friend, Corey. I’m gonna do everything I can to protect you.” Corey nodded, not looking up. Sharon wrapped an arm around him. “Plus,” ad Stiles looked up, “someone is using this to attack Ravensholme. It may not be an open or obvious one, but it’s an attack nonetheless.” Everyone nodded. 

Talia spoke. “Scrub the site. Retreat back to Hale House. General?” Okoye nodded. 

“Everyone goes to ground and we’re increasing the security alert to Black.” Stiles wanted to argue, but Lydia placed a hand on his shoulder. They silently battled with their eyes before Stiles acquiesced. He turned to Corey. 

“Come on, we need to get back.” They left as the office became a flurry of activity, personnel pulling out tech and disappearing into portals. 

**________________________________________________________________________**

Stiles walked into the drawing room. Corey sat, looking out the window, the envelope that Scott had given him open, a letter in his hands. He turned and gave Stiles a watery smile, holding out the letter. Stiles took it, his gloved hands smoothing over the surface. Scott’s writing was atrocious, but he could make out the words. He slowly smiled and looked at Corey. 

“Well, he may be a terrible writer, but he’s honest.” Corey laughed and nodded. 

“Did you need me?” Stiles held out a hand, pulling his friend up. They walked out into the main hall. Rosamund held open her arms, the sophomore holding on tight as Winston patted his back, both of them with sad looks on their face. 

“We’re so sorry we weren’t there. You must’ve been so scared.” They laughed as Corey told them he was sorry to have bothered them. 

“You’re far from a bother, Corey.” They steered him into the comfort of the living room, recognizing that a formal atmosphere wasn’t the best at that time. They’d normally gather in the drawing room at this hour. Stiles walked into the kitchen, pulling his fur lined coat tighter. Neville looked up and pushed his tea towards him. Stiles grimaced.

“Octeaum?” Neville chuckled.

“Ocetaum longinus, regularly drunk,” he was cut off by Stiles.

“Increases a human life span up to 250 years. I know.” He grimaced as he downed the rest of the mug. Neville waved a vine at two servants in liveries, both leaving with trays of food. 

“Stiles!” The heir sighed and left, Neville chuckling. The land wight pulled down various bottles and began preparing a specialty cocktail for the young man, knowing he needed it. 

Stiles walked out, his father and Melissa both handing their coats to the sendings. “You’re okay?” His dad pulled him in for a hug, Stiles returning it. “We were told some enemy of yours was,” Stiles held up his hands.

“I’m fine, daddio, just fine.” He gave him a smile and kissed Melissa on the cheek, the nurse hugging him tight. “I promise we’ll explain everything.” He directed them into the living room, joining the odd threesome. Rosamund had thrown a blanket around Corey. She rubbed her arms.

“Is it just me or is there a terrible chill in the air.” Stiles nodded. He felt it too. He was starting to suspect it was more than just the season. The doors of the house flew open. Cora darted in, her eyes alight. Stiles scowled.

“Please don’t tell me you wore those out, all day long?” She flipped him off, plopping down next to Corey, grabbing his hand. Laura walked in, followed by Scott and Isaac who greeted their parents. 

“The fuck happened?”

“Scott,” barked Melissa, “language.” He ignored her. 

“We were played.” Winston drew himself up, his regal voice commanding attention. “Someone is using the situation with Corey and his family to strike at Ravensholme. What we do now is simple. We go to ground. We increase security. And all of you,” he looked around at the assorted band of teenagers, “will let the adults investigate.” Stiles raised an eyebrow. “You know what I mean.”

Stiles turned and addressed everyone. “My grandfather is right. For the time being, we do what is necessary to protect ourselves and, most of all, protect Corey.” He turned to his dad. “Come with me,” he turned to Winston, “Grandfather?” Winston put down his drink and followed them. 

The C&C was deadly quiet. The conference room was packed, everyone standing as Stiles walked in. “Keep your seats.” He sat at the front of the table, he waved his dad to the seat next to him. Talia nodded.

“Khan, continue.” A bald black man nodded and continued giving a report about how Ravensholme was locked down. Stiles leaned over to his dad.

“They requested you, I think to talk about security.” Noah nodded. He felt a deep appreciation that he would be included in this, knowing how big a step it was, especially for him and Stiles. The discussion droned on and on for an hour or more, Noah speaking with Talia and Peter about security, but it was when Stiles’ security was being discussed that the heir piped up in indignation. 

“Say what?” Charon ignored him.

“I believe, sir, we should put Stiles on the train, keep it moving.” Winston nodded.

“Not a terrible idea.” Noah piped up, seeming to agree that keeping Stiles mobile would be a good idea. Stiles stood up, waving his hands for everyone to stay seated, annoyed. 

“I’m sorry, have we all lost our minds. What about school?” Noah sighed but looked at his son.

“I’m the last person to support you playing hooky, but it’s not as if your grades will suffer.” Stiles pursed his lips.

“Traitor. The answer is No.” Noah couldn't help but laugh. Stiles drew himself up. “I’m not joking. The answer to this cock-a-mamie idea is a big N and O. No.” 

“Stiles,” Panaka’s voice brooked no room for argument.

“Do I have to say this in Spanish. No,” he said with an accent. “Or in Russian. Nyet. I am not leaving.” The triumvirs’ holo panels were side by side, all three staring at him, hard. He stared back. “I am not abandoning my people. And I am certainly not abandoning my loved ones.” His eyes began to glow. His voice echoed. “Do I make myself clear?”

**________________________________________________________________________**

Phoenix Squadron, Noah, and Talia joined everyone in the drawing room, the group having migrated there as it was a larger space. Stiles paused, his eyes meeting the one person he wanted to see. Noah couldn’t help but notice, his hand going to his gun. Talia leaned in. “Relax.” He looked at her. She gave him a long stare, the man slowly relaxing, reluctantly, taking his hand off his gun. She rolled her eyes. “That could be the one thing that makes you and John get along. A mutual dislike of anyone who has a romantic interest in your son.” Noah doubted he and John Wick would ever get along, but accepted the cup of coffee from a footman. 

“That better be decaf,” Stiles shot over his shoulder. Noah’s eyes went wide. “What, you think I don’t know about your diet?” Noah slowly put the cup down, a servant replacing the regular coffee with decaf. Stiles stood next to where Derek sat. The two of them conversed silently. Everyone seemed to be waiting for an update. Talia stepped into the middle of the room.

“Alright, listen up.” Everyone gathered around. Sharon Ramsey stood with a hand on Corey’s shoulder. “First and foremost. Curfew. 9 P.M. Alllll,” she yelled over the groans of the teenagers, “of you. You are only allowed out if you’re working. Which, speaking of,” she nodded to Noah. He stepped forward. 

“Escorts. Everyone here is getting security. If you don’t have it, congrats, you have bodyguards, if you already had it, congrats it’s gettin’ an increase. No arguments.” Stiles rolled his eyes. Talia gestured at Phoenix Squadron. 

“If you’re part of any sort of military or police force,” she nodded at Noah, “you’ll adhere to the buddy system. You go in pairs, preferably more. Lydia?” Lydia stepped forward.

“We need to keep up the appearance of nothing being wrong. Nothing. We will continue our normal, every day schedules, including…” she waved, alerts popping up on several peoples phones. “This.”

“Spring Break?” Laura looked skeptical. Lydia nodded. 

“It’s already been discussed. I believe Scott brought it up as an idea,” she nodded at him encouragingly. He looked awkward but spoke up.

“I mean...yeah, I had thought it’d be a fun time to go to the beach and all, but not us -” he was cut off by Lydia smiling.

“Excellent. Yes. We want, whoever is targeting us, to think that we aren’t on to them. We also need to assume that they know our every move. So, no deviations. We’ve talked about a spring break trip. So we go on it.” Cora raised her hand. 

“Won’t this increase in security and having a curfew look like we know?” Stiles spoke up.

“Not necessarily. We already all spend our time in-faction together, except for a handful.” 

“Meaning the jocks,” she pointed at Scott and Isaac.

“Hey!” Both looked indignant. Even Derek felt insulted.

“Enough!” Everyone winced. Stiles’ tone was sharp. “We will act like we don’t know what’s going on. Okoye is working to determine how we move our forces around to look like we are instead moving up our timelines with...well, other things.” Rosamund looked at him and deadpanned.

“You were going to invade the Mirgoshir System again, weren’t you?” He flapped his hands and shushed her, but then shrugged.

“Sorta...kinda, it doesn't matter! What matters is that the security build up will look like the start of a campaign. And Lydia,” he nodded to her. 

“Stiles, Phoenix Squadron, and others will go away for Spring Break. It’ll look like we’re letting our hair down. We let our hair down, a supposed campaign begins, and it looks like there’s a hole. Which will open up a line of attack.” Cora’s eyes went wide, but it was Isaac who spoke. 

“You...want to get attacked?” Lydia nodded at Stiles.

“Isaac,” the blue eyed boy turned to his stepbrother, “if we open a hole for them to exploit, they take it, and we can close in on them.” Scott sprung up, crying.

“It’s a trap!” Everyone stared at him for a hard minute. Jackson spoke up. 

“Can I eat him?”

**________________________________________________________________________**

Derek sat in his room, thinking. The McCall-Stilinskis had gone home, Stiles included. They hadn’t had a tone of time together. There was a knock at his door. He looked up. His uncle stood there, observing him. He raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” Peter held out a drink. Derek stood and accepted it, walking with his uncle downstairs. He sipped it, feeling himself shiver. “What is this?” It was delicious.

“Faelnirv. Stiles told me you had seen him drink it.” Derek nodded, blushing at the memory. Peter laughed.

“You have it bad.” Derek ignored him, joining Peter in the sunroom. Out on the grounds they could see the movements of troops as weapons placements and barricades were erected. “It’ll work.” He turned to Peter. He nodded at the troops.

“Stiles plan, it’ll work.” Derek scowled.

“I thought it was Lydia’s plan.” Peter laughed. 

“I can assure you, Lydia is brilliant but Stiles...he’s Claudia’s son.” Peter’s voice had a note of reverence in it. Derek couldn’t help but be skeptical. 

“A plan to use a high school spring break trip and massive troop movements in conjunction to a previously planned invasion to convince this invisible enemy they have an opening?” Peter stared straight at him. 

“Never underestimate even the most crazy of strategies. You’d be amazed how many time an enemy of this faction lost, purely cause of a crazy idea and a good deal of stupid, on both sides.” Derek shrugged sipping his faelnirv, watching as torches were lit and massive railguns whirred as their platforms were pushed into place. “Well, at least you two can enjoy your first Valentine’s Day together with no crazy. Hopefully.” Derek’s eyes went wide and Peter noticed. 

“Oh don’t tell me…” His uncle laughed hysterically. “You forgot this Sunday was Valentine’s Day!” Peter laughed uproariously as his nephew scowled and quickly began to plan in his head.

**________________________________________________________________________**

Gerard Argent opened his phone.

**_Kate Argent - Those dumbasses took the bait_ **

Gerard gave a malevolent smile. He happily texted back.

**_Gerard Argent - Clipped Wings is a go_ **

Kate smiled but rolled her eyes as she read the text. “Such a cliche name.” Next to her Allsion turned her head away, biting her lip, so her tears wouldn’t fall. Tears she’d been pushing away for a while now, as her love for Scott grew into something real. As her affection for Stiles, her sworn enemy, became real. 

**_‘I’m so sorry.’_ **

**________________________________________________________________________**

That Friday Stiles was surprised to open his locker to find a dozen red roses placed delicately inside. He smiled. Lydia giggled. She had found the same thing, as had Jackson. They pulled them out. He opened the tiny card attached. 

_Roses Are Red_

_Violets Are Blue_

_I Want To Go Run Along The Shores Of Zihuatanejo With You_

Stiles burst out laughing. The students who were watching were shocked, never having seen Stiles do that. He thought it was terribly corny, but he loved it. And he knew the handwriting. Lydia and Jackson walked up to him, reading the card over his shoulder. 

“Huh,” said Jackson, “Hale has hidden depths,” Stiles ignored him, letting Lydia take the flowers to The Clubhouse. Later that day Stiles walked into the cafeteria. Derek had been MIA all morning, though there was a latte waiting for him on his English desk, Stiles sure Mrs. Ramswey was in on it as she winked at him. Laura had told them the senior class always did an event for Valentine’s Day, and had disappeared with Derek most of the day. It also helped that Derek was the popular lacrosse co-captain. He could get away with this. The cafeteria had been transformed into a carnival of sorts, many of the hottest jocks running the booths in tight pink or red t-shirts. The money raised went to a local youth counseling center. 

“If they wanted money they could just ask Stiles to cut a check.” He laughed as Lydia hit him. They walked up to a ring toss booth, finding none other than Aidan and Ethan, their sleeves rolled up. Both had badly drawn heart shaped tattoos that said “Mom” on them. Lydia raised an eyebrow as her beloved gave her a toothy grin.

“So, this is where you’ve been?” He nodded, leaning forward. Lydia rolled her eyes, blushing slightly, but gave him a kiss. Ethan was whispering dirty things into Jackson’s ear.

“...and I’m gonna use it tonight to open up that tight, perfect, pink pus -”

“Alrighty! That’s enough of that!” Stiles turned to both of them, his eyes flashing. Jackson breathed out hard and surreptitiously adjusted himself. He pointed over yonder.

“Oh look who’s here.” Stiles turned and his eyes went wide. Derek was in the tightest jeans he’d seen on him, in a very tight red t-shirt. He stood with Laura, in a matching outfit, glaring at any guy that dared tried to hit on his sister. They stood with Scott and Allison, the couple all lovey dovey. They walked over. Laura wiggled her fingers at them. 

“Who wants to creampie Derek in the face,” the oldest Hale asked. Jackson practically pissed himself laughing so hard while Lydia just gave the now very scowly jock a grin. She leaned forward and whatever she whispered seemed to make Derek blush, terribly. Stiles could, unfortunately imagine, as he knew her well. Stiles walked up, Derek shaking his head and looking at Stiles. 

“So, a carnival? This is what you’ve been up to?” Derek scowled more.

“Laura made me.” She hit her younger brother, barely denting him. 

“The fuck are you made of? Steel.” She googled her eyes at him. 

“Hey, he did go as Kal-El for Halloween,” piped up Allison. Derek shook his head and looked at Stiles. He pushed forward a little piece of paper when nobody seemed to be looking. Stiles took it and opened it, his cheeks blushing as he read it.

_Dinner, Sunday?_

He looked up and nodded. Derek couldn’t help but smirk. 

**________________________________________________________________________**

Feb 14

To say Noah wasn’t thrilled had been an understatement. To say that Reddington and John weren’t casually remarking how easy it would be for them to disappear Derek Hale, was an understatement. To say Scott wasn’t thrilled, was weird, but was an understatement. They were all being kept in check by a variety of things, mainly that Derek and Stiles would be chaperoned. Derek had specifically asked his mother, while enduring her endless teasing, if he was allowed to take Stiles out. So it was all planned. Derek, Stiles, and Stiles detail which was practically an entire armed division. They were going out for dinner, just the two of them. Derek was even allowed to drive Stiles’ in his camaro. 

Sunday arrived soon enough, but Stiles was, more or elss, freaking out. His normally impeccable room was covered in clothes as he struggled on what to wear. There was a knock at the door. “Entre!” Isaac walked in, eyes going wide. He was holding two cups of coffee. Stiles snatched his up, muttering about some pair of boots he was looking for. He stopped as Isaac seized his mug. 

“Before you go flying, and cover your very expensive things and very expensive clothes in cheap Folgers brand coffee…” Stiles groaned and flopped backwards. He covered his face with his hands. 

“Isaac, what do I do?” Isaac laughed and sat on one of the comfy chairs in the sitting area. 

“Just pick out something simple. You have enough black that you don’t really need to worry about matching colors.” Stiles glared at him.

“If that was a criticism of me I won’t hear it, and I won’t respond to it.” The tall and lithe teen rolled his eyes.

“Relax, Lucille. And I’m sure Derek will like whatever you wear on your date,” at that he paused, seeing Stiles eyes go wide. “What? What’d I say?” 

“Oh my god, it’s a date isn’t it? I mean I thought it was a date, but then thought that maybe we’re just chilling you know, hanging out and, oh my god it is date, but what if I,” and Stiles rambled on and on. Isaac stared with wide eyes, but finally took out his phone and pressed FaceTime on the number he’d been recently given.

“Lahey,” said Jackson. Isaac paused.

“I called Lydia.”

“I’m here,” she yelled in the background. Jackson snarled and Isaac flinched.

“What do you want?” He yelped, Lydia yelling for him to be nice. 

“Um, Stiles is sort of, well,” he stopped as he heard multiple comotions on the other end. Jackson yelled and told her to ‘watch the tail’ and the thump of fists flying, several bodies hitting the floor, and ending with what sounded like someone's head being stuck in a trumpet. Lydia appeared, out of breath and hair askew. 

“Let me guess,” she took a deep breath, “he’s freaking out about his date with Derek tonight?” Isaac nodded and she smiled. “I’ll be over in about fifteen. Just watch him for me until then. If he starts pulling spellbooks off the wall, just give him asphodel and wormwood in some black tea. See you soon!” She hung up. Isaac just blinked like an owl. 

“What and what in what?” 

**________________________________________________________________________**

Lydia dropped the call. She stood over the body of John Wick, knocked out with a particularly potent sonic scream, whereas the thugs hired by Reddington were hogtied, held by a spell derived from the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak. Jackson’s tale swept along the floor, his fangs dropping with poison. “Stiles is in freakout mode.” The hybrid shrugged.

“About time.” She nodded, stepping out of the prison cell, nodding at Talia who shut the door and set a timer. “What about Red?” 

“Mr. Kaplan drugged him. He’s out for the night. My son is safe, for now.” Lydia smiled and left. Upstairs she could hear the sounds of Derek being lectured by Laura as she helped him get ready. Cora walked by, munching on a strip of raw steak. 

“Don’t know what the fuss is about. S’bout time they fuck.” Lydia shook her head, wondering what they’d do with that girl, pulling out a key to open a door to Stiles’ house.

**________________________________________________________________________**

Lydia stepped through into the McCall-Stilinski's kitchen. Melissa smiled at her. “Was wondering when you’d be along.” She bussed the woman on the cheek and walked to the stairs, casually ignoring Noah and Scott, both duct taped to a pair of office chairs from Noah’s home office, both looking murderous. 

“Nicely done with your guys.” Melissa smiled evilly. 

“Wasn’t hard. How about Uncle John and the thugs Uncle Raymond hired?”

“Trussed up like birds and knocked the fuck out. Talia put them in a prison cell for 24 hours. Red’s been knocked out, wherever he is. Thanks Mr. Kaplan.” Melissa nodded and let them into Stiles’ room. Melissa looked at Isaac.

“Go look after your father and brother.” Thankfully Stiles didn’t hear them. Isaac gratefully left as the women went to work bringing Stiles down a level and to get him ready for his first ever real date.

Stiles came downstairs a little while later and paused. Scott and his Dad made muffled sounds, Isaac shaking his head at them. Stiles turned to Melissa and Lydia, both women giving him cherubic smiles. The heir shook his head before looking at the men, then turned back to the women. 

“I don’t want to know. I’ll be home at ten. Night,” he called out, ignoring the muffled protests as he left. Lydia stepped out in front of the men, both feeling dread grip them as she gave both of them a sadistic grin.

“Now then, what are we to do with the two of you?” Noah shot a look at his wife who smiled and shrugged.

“You were warned not to fuck around with their date night. You fucked around...and found out.”

**________________________________________________________________________**

Stiles stood outside on the porch, decidedly pushing the thoughts of his father and Scott to the back of his mind, though he had multiple questions for later. He was in a very casual outfit, far more casual than he’d ever worn. His petars were tucked into his back, his drop gun in its ankle holster. He couldn’t help but smile as a camaro pulled up and Derek stepped out. He wore a distressed leather jacket, scarf, and blue jeans. He stopped and smirked, walking up to Stiles. They both paused before laughing.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Same to you.” 

The air grew thick until Cotyar stepped out from the shadows and cleared his throat. “As riveting as this conversation is, this is a tad exposed, maybe we should?” He waved at the cars. Derek and Stiles nodded, walking to the car, Derek opening Stiles’ door. He stopped as he noticed the dozen red roses. Derek blushed. 

“Thought you already got me roses?” Derke shrugged, but cleared his throat and spoke up.

“You deserved more.” Stiles pretended to not hear Cotyar’s groan at how sappy Derek was. 

Stiles gave him a huge grin and got in, pulling up the flowers and smelling them as Derek got in and turned the car on. It was silent while they pulled into formation, cars in front and back of them. It remained silent, but not uncomfortably so. Derek caught Stiles eyes. “Like what you see?”

Stiles hummed, pretending to think, tapping his chin. Derek gave him an indignant look, Stiles giggling. “So, where’re we going for dinner?” Derek seemed to grow embarrassed, but told him. 

“My uncle told me about some old railway depot that was turned into a bar and restaurant. He said it had good food and drinks, not that we can drink, but he also said it was…” Derek trailed off and Stiles finished it for him.

“It’s private and we won’t run into people from the school?” Derek nodded, bumping the steering wheel.

“Pretty much.” 

“Then it sounds perfect.” They fell into a discussion, mainly about Corey and how the investigation was going into whoever was trying to attack Ravensholme. 

“So someone switched out the CPS Agents and parents at the last minute? And paid for high priced attorneys?” Stiles nodded. 

“And we can’t expose any deception without,” Derek continued for him.

“Without putting suspicion on all of us.” Stiles felt warm when Derek said ‘us’ like he was part of it all.

 **_‘Guess he is, in a way.’_ **Stiles smiled. 

They pulled into the parking lot. A sign above an old arch read ‘The Station’ in neon lights. They got out of the car, two agents quietly slipping in, both of them concealed by stealth tech. The SUVs were parked, hidden by brush and trees. Stiles’ HUD showed how multiple Sardukar and Unsullied fanned out, scores of djinn in various forms flitting about in the air. He and Derek were traveling in a gun sealed bubble basically. They chatted amicably as they walked in, a hostess seating them in a table a little recessed from the windows. 

“You’re counting exits.” Derek stopped and looked at Stiles. 

“What?” The heir laughed, Derek loving the sound.

“You’re counting exits, and you’re sitting with your back to the wall. Derek shrugged, a little embarrassed. Stiles held up his hands. “Don’t be embarrassed. I do it too. I was taught to.” Derek seized this opening, asking Stiles questions about training, learning that Stiles didn;t know about sword practice with Kira. They discussed the kitsune, giving the twenty something waitress an order for stap water. She returned and they laughed, telling her they hadn’t had a chance to look at the menu. They’d been too busy talking. 

They decided to share an appetizer of pita with various toppings like hummus and tabbouleh, and to share the pizza margherita together with a side of sweet potato waffle fries, both of them learning they liked seltzer, both of them ordering one. They fell into an easy conversation, Stiles peppering Derek with questions about lacrosse, life before Stiles had come and upended everything, and his family. Derek spoke openly of his love for literature, of cars, Stiles describing the disasters he’d caused as an early teen in the various engine rooms of ships. 

Derek got Stiles to open up about his earlier life, describing how he’d spent his first few years on Earth, before setting off for the stars. He described learning from elven druids and dwarven technomages, learning archery from an order of gentle thieves called the Nightingales who worshiped the daedric prince Nocturnal. They discovered they had a mutual love of literature and research, and they enjoyed the gym, except for,

“Leg day?” Stiles laughed and nodded. “You love leg day? Who loves leg day? It’s the worst day!”

They got into a heated debate about leg day, laughing at each other's fake insults. 

**________________________________________________________________________**

“They’re at The Station.” Kate nodded, waiving away Allison, pointing to the screen. The angle was awkward, but they could see the two teens, flirting and laughing. 

“We see that. You're slow on the uptake with this one, Judas.” Allison glared at her behind her back. The tight room was full of screens and photo boards. Derek and Stiles in English class, Corey getting into Sharon Ramsey’s car, Lydia and Ethan killing grimlocks in the sewers of Beacon Hills, among multitudes of others. Multiple photos of Derek had red sharpie on the, Kate drawing horns or X’ing out his eyes. 

Allison rubbed her arms, once more questioning her decisions. She stepped out of the hidden room and stopped as she looked at a photo of her late mother. She felt her resolve steel, 

**_‘They took her from us.’_ **

**________________________________________________________________________**

At the end of the night, Derek stopped Stiles from paying, glaring at the boy and telling him to put the matte black credit card away. “Derek, I can pay for my meal.” The jock huffed. 

“You could pay off the U.S. National Debt if you wanted.” His eyes went wide as Stiles eemed to contemplate it, his head waving back and forth. “Okay I was joking, you know that right?” Stiles rubbed his head, laughing, and looking like the grinning face with sweat emoji. “I was joking, Stilinski.” 

Stiles snorted. “Well, sorry, Sourwolf. But if you didn’t want to go on a date with a trillionaire ya should’ve said so.” Stiles stopped. “Oh shit.”

“Trillionaire!?!” Stiles stopped.

“Wait, you’re okay with me calling this a date but phased by how much money I have?” Derek stopped, scowling.

“Stiles, what’d you think this was?” Suddenly, Stiles seemed shifty, and blushing, Derek reached out and grabbed his hand, just slightly. “Hey, look at me.” Stiles slowly did. Derek looked at him, hard. “This is a date, Stiles. Of course it is.” He suddenly got a blazing smile in return. He blushed.

“So, lovebirds, who does this go to?” They pulled their hands apart and Derek quickly handed over a green TD Bank card. As the waitress walked off, Derek couldn’t help but notice Stiles laugh. 

“What?”

“TD Bank?” Derek slowly nodded yes.

“Toronto-Dominion?” Derek nodded again, now scowling. Stiles cracked up. 

“Stiles, what’s so funny?” The raven haired boy wiped his eyes. 

“Let me guess, your mother insisted you get an account there and nowhere else?” Derek shrugged.

“She didn’t really insist, but why -” he was cut off by Stiles.

“Toronto-Dominion is a subsidiary of ours, controlled by our majority of shares we hold through a variety of private funds. All of it is managed by the Aldridge Alliance. It’s one of the major portfolios the Crawleys manage.” Derek sighed. “Let me guess, you’re -”

“Not phased.” He signed the bill and stood. “Come on. Time for dessert.” Stiles waggled his eyebrows.

“Kinky.” The jock rolled his eyes but smirked, opening the door for the heir. They stopped off for ice cream, near the ice rink. Derek wouldn’t let him pay, again.

“Stiles, Derek!” They turned. Erica and Boyd walked up. They greeted them politely. Before long, Erica had pulled Stiles off to introduce him to a few more high schoolers that had showed up with them. Boyd turned to Derek.

“Haven’t seen you lately. You’ve been busy.” Derek felt genuine pangs of guilt. Boyd was one of the chillest and, frankly most profound, individuals he knew. 

“I’m sorry Boyd, truly. I’ve just been distracted with -”

“You’re in love. I get it.” Derek stopped cold, his eyes going wide. The burly black man shook his head. “You don't love someone because they're perfect, you love them in spite of the fact that they're not. Jodi Picoult.” Derek burst out laughing. He forgot Boyd was probably one of the only people in school who understood his love of literature, being obsessed with poetry himself. Boyd laughed with him. They grew silent then, and serious. Boyd stepped forward. “Don’t worry about us. Erica and I. She’s been shipping the two of you since Stiles first got here. But it would be nice to see you once in a while man, outside of school.” Derek quickly nodded and swore they’d hangout that very week. 

“What’s going on boys, talking about how we never see you anymore, Derek?” She gave him her best crazy eyes. “Too busy mmph-” Boyd held a hand over her mouth. He whispered something in her ear. 

“OHHHH.” She smiled at Derek and Stiles. She whispered. “Your secret is safe with us.” She shot an order at Boys and took Stiles and Derek by the hands, dragging the perplexed boys over to a table, away from the other high schoolers. She pushed them into the seats and whipped out her phone. “What’re your orders?” Stiles got the distinct impression Erica wouldn’t be denied.

“Cookies and Cream.” She nodded and turned to Derek, raising her eyebrows and smiling. 

“Big D? Which I’m sure Stiles has learned by now,” she nodded at the bright red boy. Derek groaned, putting his head in his hands. 

“Vanilla.” Erica snorted and tapped away on her phone.

“Unlike your sex life.” The boys both shushed her. “Oh relax, nobody will know. Secrets safe with me. I’m just happy y’all are finally mmph.” Derek glared at her and whispered harshly.

“Erica we’re literally on our first date, right now.” He removed his hand, Erica’s eyes practically forming hearts. 

“Oh my god that is so mmph” she was quieted by Boyd shoving a spoonful of caramel ice cream in her mouth. He sighed, shaking his head. He handed the two boys their ice cream and sat down. He pointed at them. 

“Yes, your secret is safe. But, maybe some explanations?” 

A few minutes later they’d been given the very sterile, non-magical, non-alien version of what had occurred. They didn’t know a thing about the extraterrestrial or supernatural, just all of the teenage drama. Erica sighed. “I’m just happy you two finally got your heads out of your asses and into each other’s crotches.” Derek couldn’t help but laugh, forgetting how irreverent Erica was. 

Stiles’ phone alarm went off, the teen reluctantly looking at it. They stood. Derek sighed. “Sorry folks, gotta get Stiles home before the sheriff shoots me.” Erica and Boyd stood, laughing, and hugging both of them. Stiles surprised even himself when he spoke up.

“We were thinking about going away for Spring Break. Us, Lydia, Jackson, et cetera. You’d be welcome. I’m happy to cover it.” Boyd shook his head, Erica too.

“We can pay our own way Stilinski,” she purred. “And we’d love to?” She turned to Boyd who nodded. 

“Absolutely.” With an exchange of numbers and final hugs, Derek and Stiles walked over to his camaro, not noticing the eyes of multiple high school jocks, who noticed how Derek opened Stiles’ door for him. 

**________________________________________________________________________**

As they pulled up to the McCall-Stilinski House, both boys grew apprehensive. Derek turned off the car as he parked. They leaned back, Stiles smelling his roses. They looked at eachother. Derek reached out and touched his cheek. Stiles smiled. “I don’t want tonight to end.” Derek smirked.

“Yeah?” Stiles blushed.

“Yeah.” 

“I’m glad Erica and Boyd know. They’re good people. What?” He asked as Stiles grew serious. “What’d I say? I promise, they’re -” He stopped as Stiles held up a hand.

“I’m sure they are, just...don’t let our world pull you away from your old one. You can exist in both. I promise. And mauve one day you can introduce them to it. Don’t ignore your old friends. I had your mother tell Laura the same thing.” Derek nodded. He let out a breath.

“I’ve felt that I’ve...ignored some folks lately.”

Stiles nodded. “Then don’t,” he said sagely. Stiles alarm sounded again. They both sighed and got out. It was 9:58, the two minute warning. They’d been allowed out thanks to the increased security and advanced planning. They walked up the steps, teasing each other. They stood at the door. Derek, boldly, wrapped his arms around Stiles waist.

“So, how’d I do for our first date?” Stiles giggled and nodded his head.

“Ten out of ten, Hale.” Derek grew closer. Stiles could smell the ice cream on his breath.

“Yeah, Stilinski.” Stiles swallowed.

“Yeah.” The alarm went off for 10, neither of them noticing, as their breaths ghosted over each other's lips.

“Alright Hale, get off my -” Noah Stilinski was yanked back inside by Melissa, Lydia could be heard in the background screaming in Irish. Both of them sighed. The door opened again, Scott standing there with his lacrosse stick and -

“Scott, why’re you wearing curlers and lipstick?” Before he could respond to Derek, his face forming into a snarl, Melissa bellowed.

“Scott Rafael McCall-Stilinski you get your ass back here!” Scott went running, shoving the boys apart. Melissa hot on his heels with a broom. 

“Hi boys, hope you enjoyed yourselves,” she called out. Stiles turned his head to Derek, shaking it. The taller man scowled. He leaned forward and placed a peak right on the side of Stiles’ mouth, the edge of the side of his lips ghosting the edge of the side of Stiles’ lips. 

“G’night baby.” He smirked at Stiles’ beet red face and left. 

**________________________________________________________________________**

Feb 15 - Mar 4

Noah and Scott had been informed by Melissa that, “if Cora Hale beats the shit out of you both, I’m not patching either of you up.” The almost kiss was quickly becoming Ravensholme legend. Stiles scowled when he’d learned of the multitude of attempts to sabotage or horn in on his and Derek’s first date. 

“Assholes,” he muttered, for the millionth time, as he marked up Scott’s homework. He was managing a solid C average now, far above the barely D he was scraping by with in math. His father had retreated backwards when the house began to shake thanks to Stiles’ fury rolling off him in waves that he’d yet to be kissed by Derek Hale, smack dab on the lips. 

He looked up as Corey sat down. He looked exhausted, the young man suffering from a multitude of recurring nightmares and panic inducing anxiety attacks. Stiles gave him a sad smile and pushed a large mug of tea at him. They were in Hale House, the third and final week of February pressing down on them, as it was hump day, Wednesday, before the weekend. Stiles frustration was compounded by the fact that they’d made barely any progress on investigating who was after them. As he was encouraging Corey to eat, as it was tea time. Lydia came prancing through the door, relinquishing her school bag and coat to a servant. 

“Spring Break Plans.” Stiles waved for her to present it, currently scowling at Scott’s less than stellar answer on his homework about the drawbacks of the Industrial Revolution. Lydia threw up some holographic windows. “So far it's Stiles, Allison, Scott, Isaac, Kira, Erica, Boyd, the Twins, Jackson, Derek, and Me.” Corey looked up.

“I still don’t know why Cora and I can’t go.” Lydia ruffled his hair, which he hated. 

“Cora doesn’t want to. And you are under extensive guard until we know what’s going on. Plus, you’re not allowed to leave the county without extensive reason and paperwork. It’s best that you stick here. Hey,” she said, seeing his bummed expression, “there will be tons of other trips. I promise.” She turned to Stiles. “You’re sure about Erica and Boyd?” He nodded, moving onto the science homework, impressed that Scott was apparently good in science. His homework was definitely an A level. “Well, that’s that then. The only thing is locale.” 

She shoved her iPad at Stiles, who quickly glanced at it and pointed at the seaside mansion with a private beach. 

“Stiles that's over 4500 a night, plus if it's more than five people it’s a surcharge of 500 a person.” Stiles pulled out a card and threw it on the table, ignoring her. She rolled her eyes but took it, beginning to book their sort of fake vacation.

**________________________________________________________________________**

Allison walked into her grandfather’s study. “They’ve booked the place right outside Sonoma Coast State Park.” He gleefully nodded, no doubt texting her aunt. He looked at her.

“You know Allison, I’m very proud of you.” Allison paused, not sure what to say. “Seriously, you’ve brought pride to the Argent name. Your mother’s name.” Allison felt her cheeks grow warm. It wasn’t just pride though, it was tinged with embarrassment and shame. But she schooled her expression into a dutiful smile.

“Thanks Grandpa.”

**________________________________________________________________________**

The first week of March brought warmer weather, and while not enough to swim as long as they remained in Northern California, it was pleasant. While they were still under Black level security, everyone had settled into a good routine. Some progress had been made and the leaders of Ravensholme were feeling buoyed by this. 

The air had the scent of spring and the sun shone high. It was a quiet day in school, Derek flirting with Stiles over text, when an alert popped up. It was Corey. 

**Corey - I need you.**

Stiles scowled but glanced up. He had finished his exam for the asshole AP Chemistry teacher, Harris. He was pretending to read, but really texting. He breathed out, a spell on his lips, and shifted backwards. He had left a facsimile of himself, made of light. He darted down the corridors and to the AP Lit teacher’s room. He opened the door and slipped inside. He ran forward.

“Mrs. Ramsey!” Her arm was bleeding, and on her desk was a nasty sliver of what looked like obsidian. He pressed his hand to her wound, preparing to heal her, but yanked away, his hand screaming as if stung. He sent out an all bulletin alert. She was breathing heavily. Corey stood next to here, shaking, pale. The teacher spoke through heavy breaths. 

“Stiles, don’t touch it, this wound is evil.” A portal opened, Ayo and two of her fellow Dora stepped through. Cotyar appeared with Affa and Rekhyt, a battalion of Horla waiting on the other side with their silver nets and bone tridents. Cotyar grabbed Stiles and looked at his hands. 

“Possible contamination. I repeat, possible contamination, recommend Level 3 Bio-Contamination Protocol.” Stiles groaned, but knew there was no point. Level 3 was specifically designed to restrict the spread of any disease or pathogen. Cotyar walked over and looked at Sharon’s hand. “Bible is down, I repeat Bible is down.” 

“That’s your codename,” asked Stiles jokingly. The woman huffed out a laugh, holding her arm tightly as sweat beaded on her brow. 

Twenty minutes later Stiles had stepped through a portal to Hale House and into a decon shower. He was scrubbed down with more than ten others watching, including Talia. He was put into a hermetically sealed room, doctors moving about in hazmat suits. “I feel fine.” 

“Stiles, enough.” He turned and smiled. Melissa stood there, speaking through one of the suits. “Get in bed now, mister.” He quickly complied. 

“Is this why Talia assigned you to me? Cause she knew I’d listen to you.”

“Yes.” Melissa’s voice was completely honest and he rolled his eyes. She looked at his hand. It had started to blister. She swapped it, prodded it, took blood samples, and more. She smiled at him and told him his father was on his way and that he’d be back. 

“How’s Mrs. Ramsey.” She paused and looked at him before nodding. 

“She’ll be okay. Worse than you are, but they’re confident they can repair any damage.” He laid back, nodding. As he lay in complete boredom he wished he’d had the good sense to bring his phone. An hour later the ward outside his bubble filled up. Phoenix Squadron pelted him with questions which he dutifully answered. They were joined before long by Noah and Laura Hale. The Sheriff remained silent, not liking that he had now seen his son in a hospital bed twice in less than a year. Melissa entered his room again, this time not in hazmat. “No bio-agents, we’re in the clear.” Stiles happily leapt out of bed. 

A while later he sat, holding Corey, as the young boy slept, having cried himself to sleep in terror that Mrs. Ramsey would die because of him. Lydia walked up to him, wearing her uniform. She knelt down and brushed the boys hair. “How is he?” Stiles shook his head.

“Not great.” She nodded, pursing her lips. “What is it, Lydia?” She paused before speaking. 

“We found it. What hurt her.” Stiles’ eyes grew hard. He nodded. He turned to Corey and shook him awake. The boy woke with a start. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Corey looked at him like a lost boy and nodded, rubbing his eyes. 

“Time is it? How long was I asleep?” Stiles chuckled. 

“About twenty minutes. I’m sending you upstairs, no” he held up his hand at Corey’s protests, “arguments.” Corey was reluctant but left upstairs, trailed by his detail. He and Lydia walked into one of the tech rooms. Held in a containment field was a tiny black rectangle, covered in various sized holes like swiss cheese. In a neat row underneath were several matching slivers, all wickedly sharp. Stiles walked up. “Report.” 

A screen opened up, Stiles giving a tired smile to the man on the end. “Aram.” He waved, greeting Stiles. “So what’d we have.”

“Your Excellency, we have one of the most sophisticated devices for espionage I have ever seen. It's crafted of an alloy I’ve never seen and coated in a stealth composite I have also never seen.” The Hale House in-house tech stepped forward. 

“And these slivers seem to be crafted of some sort of condensed corrupted arcane. Also coated in stealth composite. And a powerful neurolytic toxin.” Stiles quickly looked up. Aram quickly reassured him.

“We **are** familiar with the toxin at least. So we could quickly treat Mrs. Ramsey. It also explains why your hand blistered. Corrupted arcane magic plus poison. Really bad combo, terrible for your pores.” Even his corny joke couldn’t lift the dread from Stiles. 

“So this block of swiss cheese has been…” Aram nodded, his expression grave. 

Listening, recording, observing, watching, and basically betraying our entire operation.” Stiles turned to Talia, raising an eyebrow. 

“Sharon said she dropped a book, knelt down, and it caught her eye, lodged in a dark corner under her desk. She pulled it out, Corey came by, and right as he walked in the room it launched a hard at her.” He nodded. He turned to Talia.

“Commander Hale.” Talia stepped out with Stiles and Lydia. “Please inform the Triumvirate I want them and the Advisory Council at once.” Talia took one look at Stiles face and nodded

“By your command.”

**________________________________________________________________________**

Derek stood on the porch, watching as the troops relaxed, semi-casually, against their weapon emplacements. He turned, hearing his uncle clear his throat. “How is it?” Peter looked grim. He shook his head.

“We’ve found twenty three boxes so far. Now that we now what to scan for, mind you,” he clarified, “the bare basics of what to scan for, we’ve found a lot of them” Derek felt anger and despair grip him. 

“What’s...what’s gonna happen?” Peter shrugged. 

“I don’t know. They’re meeting now.” Derek raised an eyebrow.

“Who?” Peter looked out at the horizon. 

“The Advisory Council, The Triumvirate, and Stiles. Basically a who's who of Ravensholme VVIPs” They fell into silence before Peter spoke up again. “Your mother is going to be investigated.” Derek scowled.

“What for!?” Peter gave him a look.

“She commands our North American operation. This happened on her watch. Twenty three espionage devices. So far. A lot of people, a lot of powerful people...have questions.” He shrugged, his face sad. Derek opened his mouth to shout but was cut off.

“That’s enough.” Derek turned. His mother stood there, looking more tired than ever. Before he could speak, Talia walked up to him. “They have every right to question. I have questions myself. And if, if they find fault or wrongdoing with my actions…” she trailed off and shrugged. “I swore myself to Ravensholme. If I have failed my oath? Then..” She shrugged. Derek stepped forward and hugged her. Talia returned, squeezing her son tight. 

**________________________________________________________________________**

It was late when Stiles appeared upstairs to a packed house. His eyes were tired and he barely seemed to acknowledge any of them were there. “Sharon is going to be fine. She’ll be released tomorrow.” There was a collective sigh of relief. “Corey,” everyone paused. Stiles' tone had a sense of authority. Of finality. “It is the belief of the Triumvirate and Advisory Council that your life is in danger. We recovered targeting data from the device. If Sharon hadn’t reached out when it did, it would’ve fired...at you.” The boy grew pale and began to shake. Aidan wrapped an arm around him. “Furthermore this is supported by the fact that it could have easily chosen Sahron as a target and actively chose you.” 

He stepped forward. “Corey...we need you to go into hiding.” Corey looked up, perplexed.

“But...why? And I thought I couldn't just...disappear. Cause of CPS.” Stiles sat down in front of his best friend. 

“Corey...they are targeting you. First the custody case, now this? Whoever is going after the faction is trying to hurt you. And now we know they won’t stop at hurting you. They actively targeted you.” He stared straight at Corey. The boy felt his dread growing. “And I won’t see you hurt.” 

**________________________________________________________________________**

At the Argent’s house Kate gleefully pranced up to her father as he arrived home from school. “They found it!” He looked at her, perplexed, before a giant grin broke out on his face. 

“Excellent! Well done! So, did you make sure they could access the targeting data?” Kate nodded.

“And just like we thought, they’re sending the little faggot into hiding.” Argent cheered again, pouring both of them a whiskey. They cheered their good fortune.

**________________________________________________________________________**

Mar 8

Stiles leaned against his custom built Audi. He’d hadn’t had a chance to drive in forever, but he’d been allowed to drive Corey to this. They were at the edge of Beacon Hills, the edge of the Preserve. His skin was ashen and gray, his eyes bloodshot. He’d barely slept in four days, but what was worse was that Derek and him hadn't seen one another and their texts had dwindled, becoming perfunctory. He watched as Quarsh said goodbye to Sharon and Corey was hugged by the twins who refused to let go. The Hale kids were next, Stiles feeling pangs of guilt as he hadn’t spoken to Derek since March 4th. Peter had told him about the discussion. No doubt Derek held Stiles responsible. 

Deimos trotted up to Corey, licking the boy. He smiled and gave a watery laugh. He looked up as Stiles walked forward. “He’s going with you.” Everyone looked at him, confused. Stiles nodded at the pit. “Deimos goes with you. For protection.” Deimos barked happily, tail wagging. He darted by the kids and jumped into the waiting SUV. “No buts.” Corey nodded. Stiles pulled him forward into a hug. 

“I’m...I’m sorry Corey. I’m sorry for pulling you into this stupid fucking world I live in,” Stiles voice was harsh and angry, mainly at himself. But Corey squeezed tight.

“No...Stiles, god no. Please don’t apologize. You gave me a gift I’ve never had.” Corey pulled back, tears falling from his eyes. “You gave me the gift of friendship.” The boys practically broke down at that. They’d barely had time to process the last few days. “I would’ve...I would’ve ended it if you hadn’t come along.” Stiles gripped him tighter, both of them crying. Corey slowly pulled back, both of them laughing as they beheld their tear stained faces. Corey turned and said goodbye to many adults, stopping at Rosamund and Winston. Rosamund’s face was desolate, Winston faring little better.

“Thank you, for the kindness you’ve shown me and,” he stopped as they knelt and wrapped their arms around him. The boy tensed, then melted into their embrace, sobbing again. 

Twenty minutes later they watched as the motorcade disappeared into the distance. Stiles turned and made to go to his car. Scott stood in front of him. Stiles huffed.

“Scott, not that the big brother behavior isn’t endearing, but -” 

“You’re not in a shape to drive anywhere, even home.” Scott held out his hand, his expression neutral, but his eyes firm. Stiles didn’t have the energy to fight and gave in. “Derek’s gonna drive you.” Stiles felt a wave of discomfort wash over him, but Scott was already walking away, him and Isaac getting into the Audi.

**_Stiles - You better be driving_ **

**_R.O.S.C.O.E. - Of course, sir._ **

Stiles approached the camaro, getting in. Derek was already inside, and pulled off the curb, the motorcade forming up around them. The silence was heavy and tense. Stiles felt his icy facade come over him. Derek stared resolutely ahead, determined to not say a word. A voice suddenly echoed through the car. 

“Not that this isn’t Red’s and John’s and Stiles’ Dad’s and Scott’s dream...but stop this. It’s such bullshit.” Ethan’s voice retreated. Both boys felt embarrassed. Derek was the first to break it. 

“Didn’t know Ethan could do that.” Stiles shook his head.

“He can’t. Probably Lydia or Jackson helping him.” Derek nodded, the pregnant silence returning. That was until Stiles couldn’t take it. He felt his frustration rise and rise, the tears spilling over. **_‘I’m sick of this being my fault.’_ **

“You think I don’t hate this?” Derek glanced over, scowling.

“Hate what?” Derek hadn’t meant to, but his voice sounded annoyed, accusatory. And to his shock, Stiles exploded.

“ALL OF IT! ALL OF IT, DEREK! EVERY SINGLE FUCKING THING!” Stiles hands slammed down on the dashboard, the jock’s eyes going wide, as he tried to focus on the road. “MY MOM, WHO WAS EVERYTHING TO ME, DYING! LEAVING ME! BECOMING THE HEAD OF A FUCKING EMPIRE BEFORE I’D EVEN HAD MY FIRST KISS FOR GODDESS’ SAKE! MAKING MY FIRST REAL, NORMAL FRIEND IN FOREVER AND PUTTING HIM IN DANGER! PUTTING AN INNOCENT SMALL TOWN ENGLISH TEACHER IN DANGER! HAVING TO DEAL WITH BULLSHIT HOMOPHOBIA AND PLOTS TO KILL ME KIND OF DANGER!” Derek’s heart hurt as Stiles began to sob uncontrollably, the pressure of the last few months coming to a head. However he took a deep breath and through the sobs he spoke again. “And now, hic, you, hic, hate me because of some stupid, hic, military protocol! That I, hic, can’t control!” Stiles began to breathe rapidly. 

“Stiles, Stiles. Stiles! You need to breathe!” Derek recognized the symptoms of a panics. He quickly slammed on the brakes, pulling over, and unbuckled himself. He ignored the screech of tires as the motorcade reacted to what they assumed was danger. Derek slid over and pulled Stiles into his lap. “Stiles,” he whispered to the freaked out teen, “breathe, please baby. Breathe with me.” Cotyar and Ayo came running over to the car and ripped the doors open. Derek snarled at them, quite wolf like, which gave them pause. “Panic attack. Shut the fucking door.” Cotyar paused, but nodded when Ayo put a hand on his shoulder. They listened.

It took him twenty minutes, but Derek was able to lull Stiles into sleep. He laid there, rubbing the man’s back, and threw his head back. He finally leaned over and knocked on the glass. Cotyar opened the door. Derek nodded to the steering wheel. “Someone needs to drive us.” The man slid in, muttering into his ear piece, the cars starting up. They drove in silence to Hale House. As they neared The Preserve, the bodyguard spy spoke up.

“It’s not his fault.” Derek looked over at him. “What’s going on with your mom. It’s not his fault. It’s standard to launch investigations and reviews with something like this. It’s out of his hands. He can’t, and won’t, interfere. And you don’t want him to.” Derek refused to speak, but as they parked he finally spoke up.

“It’d make it worse, right?” Cotyar looked at him and gave him a smirk.

“You’ve finally caught on.” 

**________________________________________________________________________**

Mar 9

Stiles awoke in a warm bed...his own. He slowly sat up, but stopped, as a muscular arm tightened around him. It was dark, mostly, except for the soft glow of a few candles floating in pearlescent bulbs. “Where’re you goin’?” He turned over. Derek Hale, bare chested, voice scratchy from sleep, stared straight at him. Stiles blushed. 

“I, um...bathroom.” Derek slowly nodded and released his grip.

“Hurry back.” Stiles blushed but nodded. He walked into the bathroom, flicking on a light. He grimaced. He looked like hell. He relieved his bladder and brushed his teeth, splashing some water on his face. He then walked back out, somewhat self conscious…okay very self conscious if he was being truthful. Derek was texting on his phone. He looked up, and smiled. He pulled back the covers. “Come on, it’s three. We still have another four hours before we need to get ready for school.” Stiles paused. “It’s only Tuesday.” He nodded and slowly got back into bed. Derek pulled him against him. 

Stiles felt awkward, but Derek sighed. “It’s okay, Stiles. You don’t need to be embarrassed. I shouldn’t...I shouldn’t have ignored you. I was upset. About shit that doesn’t involve you.” The heir collapsed against Derek, feelings of immense guilt welling up in him.

“But it does involve me, and -” He was cut off by Derek squeezing him.

“Not in a way that matters or has an impact. Go to bed Stiles, it’s okay.” Derek nuzzled his neck. Stiles couldn’t help but feel safe and warm as Derek lulled him back into slumber.

**________________________________________________________________________**

Mar 12

As Friday dawned, Stiles' skin was crawling. Between the troubling crises at work, the upcoming trip to the beach house, and Corey, his brain was buzzing like an angry hive of hornets. He leaned back in English. Mrs. Ramsey’s sub ignored him and Derek, who was currently rubbing his knee while nobody noticed. “You’re preoccupied today.” Stiles gave him a tight smile. 

“Just a lot on my mind.” Derek nodded sagely.

“The trip, the crisis, Corey.” Stiles laughed lightly, nodding. Derek truly knew him. He’d picked it all out before even being told.

“Rosamund and your grandfather have taken a shine to Corey. Is it not completely out of the realm of possibility to declare him their ward. They’d need to demonstrate a relationship, but they dote on him…” Stiles shrugged.

“Not a bad idea. But right now I just want to figure out who is after us. Who has thwarted us at every move.” Derek raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. 

The end of the last class of the day dawned and they walked to the parking lot. They’d be leaving for their Spring Break trip that night. He and Derek smiled, parting ways, knowing they’d be seeing each other again soon. They’d spent the last three days in each other’s company, not wanting to be apart. Derek because he was worried about Stiles and Stiles because he was worried about Derek. Plus, cuddles. Derek gave the best cuddles. 

“That has got to be the ugliest creature ever, please don’t tell me we have to hunt it down on top of everything else going on?” Stiles scowled at Jackson, Ethan leaning over to cuff him upside his head, as they walked into the room. Stiles turned back to the screen, sending off a request for a full report.

“That ‘ugly creature’ as you offensively put it, is a Kaleesh. We’ve taken their planet under our protection.” Stiles ticked off something on a parchment, folding it into an envelope. He sat against his headboard, holographic screens and papers strewn around him as he worked through the last of the day’s work. 

“And why have we been so magnanimous as to commit this action?” Stiles merely pointed a finger at the wall. The holonet was displaying some news story from the interstellar exchange, something about prospecting rights for land surrounding something called ‘Abesmi’. “...still not clear.” Stiles rubbed his temples, considering whether or not to kill one of his best friends. 

Lydia strutted in, throwing down her bag and whipping off her scarf. “Never you mind, Stiles,” she barked, causing the boy to jerk upward, glaring at her as she marched into his bathroom, “finish up. We’re leaving in ten.” 

Ten minutes later found Stiles downstairs. Allison, Scott, Kira, the Twins, Jackson, Boyd, Erica, Isaac, and Derek were gathered, talking amicably to the Sheriff and Melissa. They hugged their three boys goodbye, telling them to be good and safe. The words held extra meaning and the look in their parents eyes conveyed that. They all walked out and into the night air, a relatively short drive ahead of them. 

Stiles got into his car, Ethan and Jackson in the backseat. The door opened, and instead of Isaac, who he had thought was driving with them, it was Derek, which meant he was leaving the camaro behind. The man said hello to everyone, but remained silent. Stiles couldn’t help but notice he wore his baseball cap, backwards, and sunglasses. It was a good look on him. Stiles blushed and turned to the front of the car. The HUD activated.

“Whoa.” He turned. Derek had taken his sunglasses off, revealing wide green eyes. He turned to Stiles, and smirked. “Cool.” Stiles chuckled and pulled out, Lydia and the others following. Being followed overhead by cloaked jumpers. 

They drove for about an hour and a half, in companionable silence, until the three boys struck up a conversation about lacrosse, Stiles rolling his eyes as he understood nothing. He turned on the radio and bopped his head along to Drake as they drove off to their spring break vacation. They stopped as they pulled up to a long road that wound upwards, the smell of salt in the air. Allison got out with Lydia and they collected what looked like multiple sets of keys from a wrought iron mailbox. They drove up, at Lydia’s direction. A massive, well lit mansion met them. They pulled around the circular driveway.

“There is no way this was only fifty dollars a night, Stilinski!” He chuckled at Erica’s indignant yell.

“Then you shouldn't have fulfilled my venmo request, Reyes!” Everyone laughed. Scott turned to Allison and paused. 

“Allison? What’s wrong?” The girl stood there with tears in her eyes, she shook her head and looked at him.

“Scott...I’m so sorry.” Scott was confused, cocking his head to the side. Right as Allison said this, Lydia screamed a mighty wail into the night. 

__________________________________________________________________ **____________**

**Above Earth**

The basestars _Borealis, Dominar,_ and _Nyx_ were in geo-synchronous orbit above Earth, several ships interspersed between them. Comms Officer Shent pushed her hair back, her bright red eyes scanning over the deep radar display before going back to read over her logs. She looked up briefly, the Chiss wondering if there was a new shipment of lavender earl grey coming in, as she was craving it. 

Intelligence Officer Ble’Teusch, a Bothan with cream white fur, walked in. He smiled at her, putting down a raktajino. She thanked him, always grateful for his understanding that she needed a consistent supply of caffeine. As she was taking a sip, an alarm rang out. The HUD popped up on their screens. “Early warning systems have been bypassed!?” yelled the Bothan incredulously, but was cut off as the ship was rocked. The ship shook as multiple hostiles dropped out and opened fire. A-Wing interceptors dove towards their ships like angry hornets.

**The Continental, Los Angeles**

Winston ticked off numbers, tallying up the contracts fulfilled that day, as he sipped a martini. He thought of his dinner, which would be there shortly, and smiled. Duck with blackberry sauce, lemon sauteed spinach, and risotto.

The door opened, footman in liveries, carrying his meal. As they set it down, an explosion wracked the building, throwing Winston from his chair. He rolled upwards and pulled out his custom 357 Desert Eagle as gunfire rang out.

**Mars**

Sam Seaborn, Deputy Chief of Staff of the Executive Office of the Sovereign, was enjoying his morning raktajino, flipping through reports for the day, when an alarm blared. His office went to battle lighting mode. He groaned. “Not another drill.” He walked out into the bullpen and turned to Ginger and Bonnie. “What number does that make this?” Bonnie didn’t even look up from where she was marking up a policy report. 

“Sam, we lost count three years ago how many of these damn things we’ve had to do.” They all looked up, laughing, as the door banged open. It was CJ, followed by her guards. She looked stricken

“It’s not a drill.”

**Hale House, Beacon Hills**

Talia walked through the corridors, rolling her eyes as Reddington sent her another request about some bad guy that he probably wanted to have killed or humbled or something rather or other. She denied three requests for time off, reminding the officers in question that they were due for PTO in a week, and a firm reminder that now was not the time to ask for time off. She punched the elevator button, 

She was thrown back as a concussive blast of hot air came whooshing down the shaft. She slammed into the wall and fell face down. Blood dribbled from the side of her head as multiple explosions rang out.

**________________________________________________________________________**

**End Notes:**

**It’s finally here. The confrontation that Stiles and the gang have been anticipating, dreading, but couldn’t figure out heads or tails of when it was coming. It’s here. And they’ve smacked right into it.**

**Ravensholme Pinterest - your general source** [ **https://www.pinterest.com/Qnoillimrev/ravensholme/** ](https://www.pinterest.com/Qnoillimrev/ravensholme/)

**Telogus Music for the New Years Eve waltz:** [ **https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96Rhugt1XRQ** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96Rhugt1XRQ)

**Stiles outfit inspo for New Years Eve: Michelle Obama’s 2021 inauguration outfit** [ **https://www.google.com/search?q=michelle+obama+inauguration+outfit+2021 &sxsrf=ALeKk00o2t0BbVYLMeVmkkFQfXlkp0HVXg:1612205349237&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiQjZX5rMnuAhVjw1kKHZcODBIQ_AUoAXoECBQQAw&biw=1535&bih=765** ](https://www.google.com/search?q=michelle+obama+inauguration+outfit+2021&sxsrf=ALeKk00o2t0BbVYLMeVmkkFQfXlkp0HVXg:1612205349237&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiQjZX5rMnuAhVjw1kKHZcODBIQ_AUoAXoECBQQAw&biw=1535&bih=765)

**Derek’s New Years outfit:** [ **https://www.pinterest.com/pin/700098704559374352/** ](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/700098704559374352/)

**Stiles formal dinner attire -** [ **https://www.pinterest.com/pin/700098704564863127/** ](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/700098704564863127/)

**Stiles Valentine’s Date attire -** [ **https://www.pinterest.com/pin/700098704561988943/** ](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/700098704561988943/)

**Derek’s Valentine’s Date attire -** [ **https://www.pinterest.com/pin/700098704553717931/** ](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/700098704553717931/)


End file.
